


The Myriad Misadventures of A Midgardian Queen-In-Training

by DoeEyedDarling



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hate to Love, Loki Does What He Wants, Mild Sexual Content, Reader Objects to Loki Doing What He Wants, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:51:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 28
Words: 32,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3713893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoeEyedDarling/pseuds/DoeEyedDarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an AU where Loki DID take over the world by the end of The Avengers, you (the reader) receive a letter on your sixteenth birthday informing you that you are eligible to be considered for The Choosing, a one-time-only, televised event in which the new King of Midgard will select a wife.<br/>Eight girls. One crown. Who will win?<br/>***The underage tag is more a precaution than anything else - there will be NO underaged smut in this fic! Smut won't be coming into play until Reader is WELL above the age of consent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a reader-insert inspired by Kiera Cass's "Selection" series, minus the love triangle. Disregards the ending of The Avengers as well as the entirety of Thor TDW. Hope you enjoy!  
> (Y/N) = Your Name  
> (LN) = Last Name  
> (DD/MM/YY) = Your Date of Birth

The letter comes at the worst time imaginable.

The envelope is plain, if a bit large compared to the average letter. What first catches your attention is that it is addressed to you. Not Mom or Dad, not Erik or Carlie, but you. Okay, so it’s _technically_ addressed _"To The Parent/Guardian of (Y/N),”_ but still! It doesn’t have a return address, which doesn’t strike you as particularly strange, until you tear into the envelope and notice two things:

  1. The heavy, creamy stationery.

  2. The insignia. The smooth, calligraphy-curly insignia, drawn in deep, shiny, _green_ ink.




“Mom!”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“C’mere!”

You shove the letter and envelope at her. “It was addressed to me - kinda - but I didn’t read it. I just saw the - ”

“Insignia,” she breathes. Her eyes widen as she scans the page.

You expect her to tell you what’s going on as soon as her gaze reaches the bottom of the page. Instead, you watch as she reads it again. And again. The third time she goes to reread it, you can’t stand waiting any longer. “Mom!”

“Sweetheart.” She looks up at you, eyes filled with dread. But instead of explaining, she shakes her head, stuffing the paper back into the envelope. “It’s nothing we need to worry about right now. Go get dressed.”

“What?” You can’t believe it. “No! Mom, come on. I know it’s about me. I have a right to know!” You extend an arm, but she pulls the letter just out of reach. You play the only card you have left. “It’s my _birthday_.”

At that, you see her resolve weaken a little bit. But it’s not enough. “Exactly. You deserve to have a nice evening out, and this can wait until tomorrow.”

“Let’s compromise. Open it at dinner. As a family,” you add.

At long last, she nods. “All right.” A split second later, her expression has gone from serious to playful as she leans in to kiss you on the cheek. “Now go change. And decide where you want dinner from. Your birthday, your choice."

(Yep. The letter arrives on the _day_ you turned sixteen. Because you couldn't have been born _one freaking day_ later.)

You run upstairs, grabbing a dress at random from your closet and yanking it on over your least-worn nude tights. Any minute, you know, your mom will leave to pick Carlie up from soccer practice.

Sure enough, you hear the tell-tale slam and click of the front door. You let out a sigh of relief when, upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, you see her pocketbook hanging from the back door, the envelope peeking out.

It takes you an infuriatingly long time to pull out and unfold the letter, shaky as your hands are, but you finally manage it. Beneath the insignia, it reads:

**  
**

**_Dear Ms. (LN),_ **

**_It is recorded that, as of (DD/MM), you are a heterosexual female between the ages of sixteen and thirty. As is such, you have been marked as eligible to participate in an exciting event in our realm’s history - The Choosing._ **

**_As the fifth anniversary of his rule approaches, our great leader has seen it fit to take a wife. Eight women will be selected from a lottery to compete for his hand in marriage. If you are the recipient of this letter, you are required to fill out the attached forms and submit them to your nearest government office by no later than a week from the day on which you received this letter._ **

**_Your king and government thank you for your service._ **

**_  
_ **

You’ve never been one for screaming at surprises. Instead, you have a tendency of going into shock, acting kind of dazed as your mind slowly absorbs whatever new piece of information's bombarding it. Which is what you do now.

 _“Heterosexual female between the ages of sixteen and thirty.” I’m a heterosexual female. I’m fifteen. I mean, I’m sixteen. I’m a sixteen-year-old straight girl…”The Choosing?” What the hell is The Choosing?_ _And_ “ _Our great leader?” Who...oh. OH. Right._

Honestly, after the Battle of New York, life has pretty much gone on as usual, besides the whole thing with psycho-alien-king-guy taking over the world. You’ve never followed politics, and besides the fact that you miss your once-frequent trips into the city - Mom doesn’t want you there alone while all the renovations are going on - you’ve been too busy to notice any major changes. You still go to school and participate in your usual extracurriculars and stay up too late Skyping your friends. You have done quite a bit of online research - about Loki and the nine realms and what exactly went down during the Battle of New York and how apparently he's some kind of Norse god - so you aren’t completely ignorant, but after a while you’ve just fallen back into your normal routine.

But now, this letter…

_So, Him. Psycho-alien-king-guy. Loki. Our great leader. Um, keep reading...wife. Eight women. Marriage. Competing? What, like The Bachelorette? Or The Bachelor, I guess, in this case...recipient of this letter, that’s me. Fill out the form...why? What service are they thanking me for? Are they just trying to ensure they have enough viewers for The Bachelor: Alien Royalty Edition?_

Finally, it clicks.

_Oh, my God._

_Oh. My._ God _._

They want you. They’re rounding up potential candidates to star in their little reality marriage competition, and they want _you_.

 _But...I’m too young! I just barely made the age cutoff! That's so unfair!_  You rack your brain for more reasons why you should be exempt from this ridiculous "lottery" - as though that'll make any difference. I’m _not even over the age of consent! In New York, I mean. If I was in California or Ohio or something, that would be a different story, but this is New York, so I still have a year before...or did they change the age of consent when they changed the government and stuff?_ Again, you didn’t really paid any attention to the news when all of that was going on. Or ever, really.

Later, you check Google and see that yes, the new age of consent is sixteen worldwide, something you might have found interesting and mildly amusing under different circumstances.

Like if you had a boyfriend, for instance.

Which you didn’t. Ever.

But _these_ circumstances...the government wants you to marry a guy you’ve never met. Or compete to marry a guy you’ve never met, anyway...and based on what you know about Loki from your research thus far _(Frost Giant? Trickster God? Psychopath?)_ , you’re more than a little scared.

Okay, let's be honest: you are absolutely _terrified_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts? Do you like the title, or should I change it? Suggestions/requests as to what should happen next? Reviews are always appreciated. ;) Thanks for reading!
> 
> xoxo,  
> DoeEyedDarling


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you so much to all readers and commenters, as well as everyone who left kudos! It's really encouraging seeing how you guys are responding to this idea - hopefully I will live up to your expectations. :)  
> Enjoy the chapter!

You don't say anything about the letter when Mom and Carlie walk through the door, instead waving at them with the hand that isn't holding the curling wand. Carlie runs over and hugs you, careful not to get burned. "Happy birthday, (Y/N)!"

You smile down at her. Annoying as your little sister usually is, even you have to admit that she can be a sweetheart when she wants to be. "Thanks, Carl."

"Carlie," your mom calls from the bathroom. "Go shower and change, quickly." She pokes her head out, and you stifle a giggle, seeing she only has lipstick on half her mouth. "We're meeting your father in fifteen minutes. You decided where we're going?" That last question was directed at you, and you nod, nudging Carlie to go.

Thirty minutes later, you're finally in the car, and it takes all of your effort to keep from confessing to your mom. Well, half your effort - the other half is spent trying to keep your gaze away from her pocketbook, where the envelope (closed and tucked away just as you found it) now resides. You practically jump out of the car when you reach the restaurant, eager to have a little space. You're relieved to see Dad already standing by a table, and are about to hug him, when he steps aside to reveal -

"Happy birthday, kiddo."

"Erik!" You throw yourself into your older brother's arms, trying to process the fact that he's here. "You came!"

"Like I would miss it." He ruffles your hair, and you roll your eyes, smoothing it back as best you can before reaching up to get him back. "Man, how long has it been since I last saw you? A week, and you've already grown a foot more?"

"It's been over a month, and I have not grown that much." You cross your arms, pretending to pout, but you can't keep from smiling for long. Erik's college is a few states over; you never would have expected him to make the trip home just for your birthday.

Carlie runs up. "Hi, Daddy!" She doesn't seem at all surprised by your brother's presence. You turn on her.

"You knew?"

"Of course!" she chirps. "He came this morning, after you left for school."

You look around at your family. "How long has this been the works for?"

Your dad shrugs, pulling out a chair for you. "A while now." You sit, giving the menu a cursory glance - you've been here often enough to know exactly what you plan to order - as you listen to your family recount the time and planning that went into surprising you.

One meal later, you can't help but notice that, despite the light mood, Dad seems...tense. Stressed. Before you can ask him what's wrong, Erik turns to you and Carlie.

"So," he says, "Anything else that’s new? What cool stuff have you been up to that I missed?"

She giggles. "My team won regionals last week, so we're starting to get ready for All-State next month!" You feel a surge of pride. Your little sister is a truly gifted soccer player, even at eight years old, and it warms your heart to see how much joy she gets from it.

"That's awesome! And how about you, Birthday Girl? Any exciting stuff on your end?"

You don't want to ruin the good mood, but you feel as though you're about to burst - you can't keep on pretending everything's fine. "Well, I got a letter in the mail today."

"Really?" asks Dad. He looks at Mom, who has paled slightly at the mention of the letter. "From who?"

"Actually, I don't know. Mom and I were thinking we could open it here, right, Mom?" She nods. It breaks your heart to see her fingers tremble as she pulls the envelope from her purse, exactly as yours did earlier.

When she's done reading the letter, your entire family is silent for a long, long moment.

“I don’t get it.”

You almost laugh at your sister’s bluntness. From the mouths of babes...

“You know,” Mom says, looking at your father, “I have to go to the restroom. Carlie, why don’t you come with me?”

“But Mom, I don’t - ”

“Carlie.”

Your little sister nods, sensing the warning in your mother’s voice, and hops down from her chair. Dad waits until they’re around the corner before unfolding the letter and rereading it silently. “Well,” he begins. “This is...this is something, Bean.” When you were little - five, six tops - he nicknamed you that because you refused to sleep unless all of your Beanie Babies were tucked in besides you. Hearing him call you that now, you weren’t sure whether to laugh, smile, or weep.

“Lemme see.” Erik skims the page. “You just made the cutoff, then, huh?” You and Dad both nod, and Erik leans back, letting out a slow whistle of disbelief. “They can’t seriously expect you to do this.”

“I read it while Mom was out getting Carlie,” you admit. “The amount of paperwork in there...I’m pretty sure they aren’t joking.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Let’s look at this positively.” You and Erik both turn to look at Dad. “They’re choosing eight girls at random. I’m sure there are millions, maybe billions of, uh, ‘heterosexual females between the ages of sixteen’ out there.” He blurts it out quickly, with the special discomfort reserved for fathers discussing their daughter’s sexuality. “The odds you actually have to go are - ”

“Highly unlikely. Astronomical, even.” You feel yourself cheer up considerably. As if on cue, Mom and Carlie come back into sight. “Dessert, anyone?”

The tension seems to evaporate after that, as you debate whether you should order chocolate or vanilla cake, and for a while everything feels normal again. But as you blow out the candles, blinking smoke from your eyes, you catch a glimpse of Mom and Dad exchanging a look, and you can’t shake the feeling that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, more expositional stuff...this one was fairly short, so expect another update in about a week, if not less. Love you guys! Comments and kudos are, as always, appreciated. :) Love y'all!
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> DoeEyedDarling


	3. Chapter 3

Full of soda, cake, and laughter, you arrive back home feeling as though you could fly. Any thoughts of _the letter_ are gone; the only thing you're worried about at the moment is the fact that you’ll have to get up extra early to finish your homework the next morning. You have enough trouble falling asleep as it is, but after a day of festivities, the sugar rush combines with a natural high to leave you even more restless as usual.

You sleep lightly; fussily. You close your eyes at eleven and eventually fall into a state of semi-consciousness, only to open them what feels like hours later and see that it’s only a quarter after midnight. You need to get up, need to move - maybe some tea will help you calm down. You climb out of bed, careful not to disturb Carlie as you shut the door - her bedroom is next to yours, and she’s also a notoriously light sleeper. You walk down the stairs, wincing every time the floor creaks -

“ - don’t want her doing this.”

“I don’t think we really have a choice, Rob!”

You freeze halfway down the stairs, recognizing the hissing voice as that of your mom. You take one more step down, enough that you can see into the dining room without drawing attention to yourself, and crouch down.

“I’m with Dad on this one.” Erik steps into view. “I’ve spent the last month and a half studying this guy. For a project. He’s...not right. Not stable. From a psychological standpoint.” You roll your eyes. Your brother’s only minoring in psychology - his major is political science - but already he considers himself an expert on the subject. “Anyone with enough power to browbeat an entire planet into submission isn’t someone I’d want to touch with a forty-foot pole. And someone crazy enough to even _want_ to rule the world - do you really want (Y/N) living with someone like that? _Marrying_ someone like that?”

“She’s sixteen, I don’t want her marrying anybody!” Dad explodes. You flinch - this is a far cry from the “always look on the bright side” attitude he had at dinner.

“Calm down.” Mom glares at the two men. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. All I’m saying is that we have to submit her name. I don’t want to,” she adds quickly, seeing that Dad is ready to blow his top. “But it’s exactly what Erik said. This man - he’s powerful, and I don’t want to do anything to cross him. We submit her name, she doesn’t get picked, we can go on with our lives.”

“And if she does, Mom? What then?” Erik interjects.

She shushes him gently. “We cross that bridge when we come to it. Just pray we never have to.”

“Leigh Ann, I just...I don’t…” Your dad trails off, looking lost. Mom rubs his arm.

“I know, sweetie. Layoffs are stressful. Right now, let’s focus on keeping (Y/N) with us, all right? We have money saved. We’ve dealt with worse.”

“I can come back home.”

“No.” Dad goes from dazed to firm in an instant. “You are _not_ dropping out of school. Your mother’s right. We’ll make it through this, but right now, (Y/N) is the priority. In a week or two, this’ll all be over.”

Erik hesitates a moment before nodding. “I’m going to go upstairs. Love you guys.” Somewhere in the back of your mind, it occurs to you that you should move before you’re  discovered, but you’re more concerned by what you just overheard. _Dad was laid off? When?_ And when were they planning on telling you? You wish you had the courage to confront your parents, but they’re under enough pressure as it is, and they probably wouldn’t be too thrilled to find out you were eavesdropping, and damn it he's walking this way. As he passes through the living room, he knocks over a pile of magazines from the table. He bends down to pick them up; seeing your chance, you stand up and run lightly back up the stairs.

You lay back down, feeling a strange new sense of dread. You may have evaded being caught by your brother and parents, but it seems as though not every incoming bullet will be so easy to dodge.

* * *

 

_THE CHOOSING - TERMS OF PARTICIPATION **  
**_

__

_If chosen to participate, the Chosen will be given lodgings in the palace, as well as training to prepare them for their potential role as queen. This will be a televised event of indefinite length. All those chosen to participate in The Choosing will be granted extended life for as long as needed._

_To compensate for their absence, the families of the Chosen will be given a weekly stipend of $1000, and, if the contestant in question is chosen as the first queen of Midgard, will be moved to Asgard and elevated to members of the royal family._

_The Chosen will be required to sign a contract confirming that they have never engaged in physical relations with anyone of the opposite gender prior to their stay in the castle. They will be expected to maintain their chastity for the duration of their stay. Violation of this rule will be considered treason, and violators will be punished accordingly._

_The Chosen will be required to maintain physical and mental well-being from the time they are chosen to the time they leave the competition. Medical care, including (but not limited to) any necessary (non-cosmetic) surgeries, vaccines, and/or prescription medicines will be provided as needed._

_The Chosen will not attempt to intimidate, attack, or harass any members of the royal family, government officials, workers in the palace, and/or their fellow contestants, and/or do anything to hurt their fellow contestants’ chances at winning. Violators of this rule will be asked to leave the competition, and will be punished accordingly._

_The Chosen will wear the clothes and eat the food provided for them in the palace. Special accommodations will be made as necessary. For security reasons, it is asked that the Chosen not bring any clothes to the palace except for the ones they wear the day of transport._

_The Chosen may bring one security-approved item from their home to the palace. Weapons and live electronic devices are not permitted. Means of communication will be provided to the Selected and their families upon the contestants’ arrival._

__

So many rules...no clothes from home? And only one item? You run through possibilities in your mind...cell phone? E-reader? No, no electronic devices. Dammit, that means you can’t bring your laptop, either. Should you print out all of your stories and stuff and put them in a binder? Would that still count as one object? But then you wouldn't be able to bring any of your books…

You shake your head. You haven't even finished filling out the form; chances are, you won't even be picked. Who are you kidding, you’ll never be picked! Your heart rises, then sinks again as you consider the rest of your family. Yes, your parents would never want you to go...but you can’t pretend as though they wouldn't benefit enormously from that “weekly stipend,” at least until Erik graduates college.

 _Geez, slow down. We can worry about money and stuff if I get picked. Which I won’t. So we figure out another way - Dad’ll get hired by a new company soon enough, Mom’ll do something, I can get an after-school job if I need to..._ You’ll make it through. Your family is resilient and clever and altogether a brilliant team. In a few days, they’ll announce the names of the Chosen, and I'll be able to breathe again.

But, until then, you have to finish signing all of these contracts, and, dear God, there are a lot of them. Forms about your appearance, forms about your likes and dislikes, forms about your occupation and your family and your education and everything in between. It takes you nearly an hour to finish filling out and checking everything, and that's _with_ the help of your parents.

The line at the government office is ridiculously long, but the wait is worth it: the second you drop the bulging envelope on the counter, you feel as though an enormous weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

You’ve done all you could. Now you just have to wait for all this to blow over.

* * *

You've never followed the news before - on purpose, at least, though you tuned in via phone with your friends during the Battle of New York. But it's the evening after the deadline for Choosing applications, you’re in bed with nothing to watch and now seems a good a time as any to make _Good Night, America_ a part of your nightly routine.

The introduction music plays, the logo flashes on the screen, and the host, Ashley Marino - a pretty, petite redhead - appears on screen, flashing viewers her famously cheery smile. “Hello, there, and welcome to _Good Night, America_! Last week, millions of young women across the globe received a letter informing them of a very special opportunity.”

You wonder if Miss Marino got a letter - there’s absolutely no way she’s anywhere close to being in her thirties - until you catch a glimpse of a ring on her left hand.

Oh. _Mrs_. Marino, then.

“King Loki of the planet Earth - or the realm of Midgard, as some call it - has announced the commencement of a competition to see just who will be his queen.” Her smile is still there, but it’s beginning to seem just the slightest bit forced. “Eight lucky girls, picked at random tonight on our show - yes, you heard that right - will be swept away to the palace to familiarize themselves with the royal lifestyle. And never fear - for those of us stuck at home, The Choosing will be a filmed event. Not only will home viewers be able to access live online footage, but for the duration of The Choosing, _Good Night, America_ will be having a weekly segment on the event, complete with interviews from our lovely champions and, of course, our great leader.” Her breathing quickens - perhaps she’s nervous at the idea of interviewing the great Loki of Asgard. She swallows before continuing, “We’re actually lucky enough to have him with us tonight - your Majesty?”

The camera pans out, and suddenly Ashley Marino’s shaky breath and trembling hands make sense, because the King of Midgard himself is sitting not two feet away from her.

You’re shocked by how _normal_ he looks, how not-godlike and not-crazy and...well, attractive.

_There, I admitted it. Just don’t think that again._

It’s true, though: with his hair slicked back, a calm expression on his face, and a brilliant emerald tie peeking out from under his black suit jacket, he could pass for any Earthborn businessman, if it weren’t for the way he was sitting - leaning forward, legs spread. Very casual. Not at all what you’d expect from a sophisticated alien king.

“Thank you, Ashley.” He smiles at her, and she visibly relaxes. His voice confuses you further - he speaks English? He’s British? - but you can’t deny that he’s nice to listen to. _Stop that! He conquered my planet. He nearly destroyed my favorite city. He is not a nice guy._ “Yes, after much deliberation, my advisors and I thought it would be a wise decision for me to take a wife. There is a saying I’ve heard - 'behind every great man is an even greater woman,' I believe is how it goes?” He shrugs. “In my experience, that never fails to be true.”

She laughs, now totally at ease. “Right. So, eight girls, from across the world - you aren’t intimidated at all by language barriers?”

He chuckles at that, sitting up straight and extending a hand to her. She looks at it, unsure - until a flower materializes, quite literally out of thin air. A rose. Red. Long-stemmed. No thorns. She hesitates before accepting it. “As a child on Asgard, my mother trained me extensively in the ways of magic. I expect language will not be much of an issue.”

Mrs. Marino is clearly less comfortable than she was moments before. It strikes you as almost funny, that this king has the power to destroy worlds, yet this news anchor is only frightened by him producing a flower for her enjoyment.

But you can’t laugh when you’re just as scared as her.

“Whatcha - oh.” You turn to see Erik in the doorway. “Mom wanted you downstairs,” he explains, his eyes still fixed on the screen. “They’re announcing the Chosen tonight, and she thought we should watch it - ”

“Together,” you finish. “As a family.” He nods, and you sigh, stretching before rolling to the edge of the bed. “Tell her I’ll be down in a minute.”

If watching the news by yourself was strange, it feels downright bizarre when, upon your entrance in the living room, both your parents immediately snap to look at you. Mom scoots over, making a place for you on the couch between her and Dad, but before she can invite you to sit, you’ve already settled on the recliner besides Carlie. She snuggles into you - it’s past her bedtime, but clearly she was able to persuade your parents to let her stay up, given the circumstances.

The interview is wrapping up. “So,” Ashley Marino says, “any last words for those women who entered the lottery?”

He turns in a few different directions, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s trying to find the camera. You let out a snort; the all-powerful ruler of Earth - er, Midgard - can’t deal with human technology. Ashley leans into him and whispers something, pointing, and he finally makes eye contact. It’s creepy, to say the least. Even though you know he can’t see you through the TV, the intensity of his gaze would suggest otherwise. “Enjoy these last few moments as ordinary maidens, and I look forward to meeting the eight of you.” You should be terrified, but his manner as he says it isn’t menacing. It isn’t the tone of some psychopathic meglomaniac, it’s that of an old friend. It’s, in a strange way, comforting.

At this point, you can see Ashley Marino has completely melted, surrendered to the charms of this man. God. King? Whatever he is. “Great advice. So, let’s get started! Our first champion…” The screen changes to an image of a short, busty blonde - you reckon she's about nineteen - her mouth drawn into what you assume is supposed to be a sexy pout, but looks more like a duck's face. Still, she's pretty enough. "Rosa Perez, twenty-one, of Argentina!”

"Next, we have Irina Madison, twenty, of Russia!" Another blonde, but her hair is darker than the first, and wavy. She looks friendlier, definitely, grinning at the camera from atop a large brown horse.

“Rhea Unz, twenty-seven, of Germany!” Light brown hair, delicate features.

“Alexandra Ritaccio, twenty-one, of Croatia!” Another girl who submitted a selfie for her application picture, same duck-faced pose as the first.

You nuzzle the top of Carlie’s head. “What do you think of them so far?”

She chuckles. “The last one looked silly.”

You tickle her, sparking more giggles. “ _You’re_ silly, little miss - ”

“(FN) (LN), sixteen, of the United States of America!”

_Did she just -_

You hear someone let out a faint cry, but you’re not sure who - Mom? Carlie? You? On the screen, Ashley Marino is still calling names, but you aren’t registering any of them. “Rewind it,” you say softly. Erik nods, picking up the remote, pausing it at the exact moment.

There it is, your face, on TV for all the world to see.

You’ve been Chosen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my beauties! Final exams are finished, which means it's posting time!!!! *falls to knees in praise of whatever higher power exists* Hope you enjoy this chapter!

You hear the bell-tone of your cell, over and over again. Picking it up, you see texts popping up, some from numbers you don’t even recognize.

_ru watching good nite america_

_Is that really you?!_

_omg congrats!_

_Wow that sux_

_ur pic looks great_

_AHHHHHHHHHHHH_

_i cant believe it! great job!_

_(Y/N)!_

_Congrats, (Y/N)!!!!!!!11111!!!!_

_(Y/N), u there?_

A visit to your Facebook page yields similar results, especially once people see you’re online. A second later, the house phone starts ringing, and the rest of your family snaps out of their collective stupor. Mom leaps up to grab the phone, Erik and Carlie crowd around you, Dad storms out of the room...

“Are you okay?” That’s Erik, shaking your shoulder gently. “(Y/N)?”

“Yes, she’s right - " She pauses to glance back at you. " - oh, no, she’s in the shower. Of course, I’ll tell her you called - oh, I have a call waiting, can you hold? Hello? This is Mrs. (LN). Oh, (Y/N) isn’t available right now, but I’ll let her know you called…” The calls are coming in faster than Mom can field them, the texts flashing across your phone screen like gunfire.

“I’m fine.” Your voice sounds hollow, distant. Like it’s coming from someone else. Dimly, you’re aware of the fact that you’re standing up again, clutching your cell phone. You walk up the stairs, Carlie at your heels. You climb under the blankets fully clothed, not even bothering to turn off the lights, and, with your little sister huddled besides you, you close your eyes and try, _try_ to sleep.

* * *

Thank God for best friends. If it weren't for Steven, you'd never make it through school alive.

"I can't believe your parents are making you go to school," he mutters. You shrug and nod, as if to say, _I know, right?_

As it is, you aren't too sure you _will_ make it out of this building alive - sure, there are some girls that you are friendly with, some that support you, some that pity you (in the nicest way possible)...but you've received a handful of glances that carry more than a little malintent. Case in point: most of the girls in your eighth period chemistry class are too nice (or, at present, too focused on saponification) to glare or make snide comments. But at the lab table next to you, Lara Jennings is staring at you with such intensity, you're almost afraid her goggles will melt.

"Is it five minutes to passing yet?" you whisper. Steven's gaze flickers to his watch before he shakes his head, and you draw your lips into a pout. Steven, bless his soul, is pretending to have a sprained ankle so that you can be his book carrier and leave class early with him, thus saving you from those four minutes of passing period hell. In class, nobody can do much, but the hallways are fair game. As it is, there are some places you can't avoid, like the cafeteria, for instance. Or gym. _I swear, if Annabelle Wilkes makes one more comment about how corseting is sure to do wonders for my figure, I will throw her stupid purse so hard it, it’ll end up in the boys’ locker room._

Not that Annabelle would mind. After all, it would be just another excuse to prance around the gym in her booty shorts and sports bra, whining to Coach, winking at whatever poor boy accepted the task of returning the pocketbook.

But you digress. You don’t take science with Annabelle; nor do you share a ninth period class, thank God. Finally, Steven raises his hand, and, upon receiving a nod from the teacher, limps to the hallway. You follow after, sighing in relief when the door shuts behind you.

Steven falls into a normal gait besides you. “One period left.”

You groan. “Oh, God…”

He grimaces apologetically. “Sorry.”

“What? No need to apologize. I’m, like, super psyched,” you whisper back sarcastically.

“Really?”

You roll your eyes. “No, genius. I’m freaking out. You really think I want this?”

“No. But it looks like you’re alone on that one.”

You push open the door to the stairs. “Huh?”

As if on cue, Anna Wilke’s nasally voice rises up through the stairwell. “...totally hot, from what I saw.”

One of her friends - Lydia, you think her  name is - pipes up. “It’s the hair. Ugh, Bells, I’m so jealous! I literally missed the cut off by a week. So unfair.”

You freeze as they reach the landing. Annabelle gives you a disgusted once-over before plastering a faker-than-her-breasts smile on her face. She looks perfect, of course - auburn hair piled on top of her head in a strategically messy bun, scarf adorning her collarbone, her stick-figure physique enhanced by the water bra. “(Y/N), sweetie! So funny meeting you here!”

You grimace. Be polite. “Hi, Annabelle.” Honestly, if you weren’t in the same grade, you’d have no idea who she was. As it is, she never paid any attention to you until your name was drawn. Just another one of the many, many perks of being Chosen.

“I can’t believe you’ll be gone in  - what? Less than twenty-four hours?” She looks not to you for confirmation, but to Lydia, who nods enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I’m, um, pretty nervous.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I can tell. Just a word of advice, from one girl to another, I’d lay off on the stress eating, all right? What’ll happen’ll happen. No point in worrying if King Loki will like you, because it’s never gonna happen, right?” Before you have a chance to respond, she looks to Lara and jerks her chin in the direction of the exit. “Anyway, toodles, and break a leg! Make sure you give us a shoutout!” She winks at Steven before sauntering out of the stairwell.

You turn to Steven with a look of disbelief, and he nods, looking equally as disgusted. “Did she just - ”

“Some girls think it’s exciting. You know, they want to be you.” He whacks your shoulder playfully. "She's intimidated of you."

You shake your head, glancing over your shoulder one last time. “That’s, like, revolting. And honestly, does she really think I’ve got any chance of becoming queen? I mean, what were the chances it was anyone from our class? From our school, even? Zero.” You throw your hands up in the air. "I'm sixteen! She's sixteen! I don't want to get married!" It feels good saying it out loud, and Steven does nothing to stop you as you continue to rant. "This whole situation is, like, stupid beyond belief. I should be focused on passing quarterly exams, and AP exams, and...okay, so I hate tests, but this is like an even bigger test, you know? I don't want people watching me try to  _not_ be noticed by 'His Majesty,'" you say, adding air quotes at the end. He shrugs. "And, and, like, why am I the only teenager? It's like, thirty, twenty nine, twenty seven, twenty five, twenty one, and then _boom!_ Sixteen-year-old! What the hell?" Slightly calmer, you make to continue down the next flight of stairs, but… “Steven?”

“Yeah?”

You look down at your t-shirt and jeans. “Have I really gained that much weight?”

He rolls his eyes. “(Y/N)...”

“I’m serious!”

“First of all, just because I’m a guy doesn’t mean you get to make me into your sassy gay friend who you can go to for fashion advice, all right? I have a girlfriend. And, second of all, don’t let Annabelle Wilkes get into you head, all right?”

“Regardless of your sexual orientation, you are my sassiest friend by far, and I can and  _will_ go to you for fashion advice. And…” You sigh. “Thanks.”

He rubs your arm as you two head down the stairs, just as the first bell rings. In forty five more minutes, you will be back home dealing with the same obnoxious government officials who have been in and out of your house all week, finishing up last-minute paperwork, picking out a Transport Day outfit, and then tomorrow…

Well.

You don’t want to think about tomorrow.

Instead, you scrunch up your nose, thinking again about what Annabelle said.  _Really, I haven't been stress eating **that** much..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be on Transport Day, so get ready to say goodbye to your friends and family and say hello to your fellow Chosen! Any critiques, suggestions, etc, feel free to comment below. :) Thanks for reading!!! <3  
> xoxo,  
> DoeEyedDarling


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!   
> I'm posting this from my phone, so forgive me if there are typos. my cousin got married last week, so I'm currently at one of my aunt's houses in England! I'm having a ton of fun - there were two weddings, a traditional Hindu wedding and a "white wedding," and I was lucky enough to get to spend a few days in Paris with my mom and two of my younger cousins - but my family on my mom's side is absolutely HUGE, so I haven't been able to get much privacy. I'm flying back to the States around the end of the month, but I'll definitely try to post another chapter before then (probably sooner rather than later, because this chappie is pretty short)! Hope you enjoy :) <3

It’s six o’clock in the morning when your alarm goes off. You don’t half-wake up to slam the OFF button, the way you normally do. Instead, you lie there for a few moments, staring at the ceiling. Seven days. For seven days, you’ve endured the whispers of your classmates, the stares of complete strangers any time you try to go out in public. Five lunch periods during which everyone glanced at you at one point or another, freshmen and seniors alike. Some seem to pity you. Others are jealous, as hard as that is for you to fathom. Apparently, some of your fellow classmates are delusional enough to want to play Buttercup to King Psycho’s Westley.

Or would he be Prince Humperdinck?

You sigh. _Why am I spending my last five minutes of peace arguing with myself about whether or not The Princess Bride is a fitting analogy for my life?_

“Sweetheart?”

 _Did I say five minutes? Make that five seconds._ “I’m awake, Mom.” Hearing the door squeak open, you pull the covers over your head. “Mo-om, I said I’m awake.” You feel the mattress sink as she sits on the edge of the bed. When she doesn’t move, you peek out, finally shaking off your morning laziness enough to sit up. “What?”

She rubs your foot through the blanket. “I just wanted to tell you that I am incredibly proud of you. I always have been. I couldn’t have asked for a more amazing daughter - ”

“Mom - ”

She shakes her head. “Let me finish. Please. You are so beautiful, and so strong. You’ve always been strong. So feisty. And I’ve always loved that about you, even when you turned that temper against me.” She takes a deep breath, clearly fighting back tears. “I know this isn’t fair. And we’re all scared. But what scares me even more is that we don’t know what happens to the girls...to the ones who don’t win. So I just wanted to tell you, do whatever you have to do to stay alive. You hear me?” You go to answer, but she continues, “I’d rather see you married to that - _that_ \- and know you’re alive, than not.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I know. But you can be a headstrong little thing sometimes. You have pride, and morals, and that’s good, but it can also be dangerous. So if the - the king asks you something, you don’t talk back. You don’t attack any of the other girls. You play by their rules. I want nothing more than to have you back home, home and safe. I want you to have a normal life. But if it’s a choice between being executed and being the king’s plaything - ”

“I get it, Mom,” you interrupt. “Option two. Just, um, stay alive. Right?” She bites her lip, nodding. “I will. I promise.”

Her eyes flutter shut, and a single tear leaks out. “Thank you,” she whispers, brushing it aside before opening her eyes again. She grabs your hand and gives it a comforting squeeze. “Now go get dressed. We’re leaving for the train station in an hour.”

* * *

 

You take time to say goodbye to your room, getting just the slightest bit overly emotional. Okay, so maybe more than a little bit; heck, even using your curling wand for the last time makes you tear up. You actually bother with makeup, for once, brushing your favorite eyeshadow over your eyelids, a light stroke of blush blended into each cheek, your eyelashes curly and clump-free. Finally, the doorbell rings, signalling the arrival of your escort. Your family climbs into the provided limo, flanked by two government officials, and you wave goodbye to the neighbor’s dog, watching her run around the yard. _I'm going to miss that dog, damn it._

A crowd has formed by the time you arrive, practically your entire town, kept in check by the guards and the stanchions set up. It’s hard to say which goodbye hurts most: as you make your way to the platform, Carlie hanging from your waist, you have to stop every few seconds to blow kisses to your friends. Erik’s hug almost makes you cry, because only a month ago your biggest worry was whether or not he’d have enough time off from school to come home, and now you’re the one leaving. Mom plants a kiss on your cheek before shepherding your siblings back to the car, leaving you and Dad behind.

“So, Bean,” he says in a strangled voice. You do your best to ignore the shouts and camera flashes coming from a couple of yards away. “This is it.”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “My little patriot.”

You can’t help but chuckle at that, and give him a little salute. You were requested to dress in your country’s colors for Transport Day, and you may have gone a little overboard. With your white blouse tucked into a short blue skirt, a la Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday, a blue belt, blue shoes, and a red bow in your hair, you’re a walking, talking American flag. “Thanks, I try.”

“You didn’t pick an item to bring, did you?” You shake your head; you’ve been so sick with worry for the past week, you’d completely forgotten. From behind his back, he produces a thick book, covered in black velvet. You glance at it, then look up at him, one eyebrow raised in a question. “It’s a photo album,” he clarifies. “Your mom and I put it together last night. Not sure what kind of stuff we’ll be able to send you once you're over there, so we wanted you to have this. No metal, no pointy edges, so it should get past security okay.”

You turn it over in your hands, running a thumb over one corner. “Thank you, Dad. I love it.” You force yourself to grin. _Be brave._

“I’m glad.” He clears his throat. “Look, you know how I feel about this...this whole situation. I want you to get out of there as soon as humanly possible, alright? Stay low, out of...his attention. I don’t care about the money, I don’t care about the throne: first opportunity you have to come home, you take it.”

You let out a sad little laugh. “I know.”

“And if that monster lays a hand on you, you write home and you tell us and we’ll figure something out.”

“I’ll take care of myself, Dad, all right?” You lean forward, wrapping your arms around his waist, and feel him kiss the top of your head. “Love you.”

“I love you, too, Bean.”

_I will not cry. I will not cry._

You take a step back, holding the photo book tightly against your stomach. “I should - I should go.”

He nods. “Be safe, Bean. Get home safe.”

“I will,” you call over your shoulder, offering a timid smile to the guard who helps you into the train car.

You watch as, all too quickly, your hometown disappears, watch as the houses and trees and streets turn into a blur of movement. You decide against checking out the photo album - right now, all you have the energy to do is place the book on the empty seat next to you. Leaning back, you close your eyes, wait for your pounding heart to steady itself, and let the gentle vibrations of the train lull you to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented, and everyone who's been reading in general! Every time I get an email notification for someone leaving kudos or a comment, I get the biggest grin on my face - you guys are absolutely incredible. :) As always, constructive feedback is always appreciated, and I will see you in the next chapter!
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> DoeEyedDarling


	6. Chapter 6

"Should we wake her up?”

“I don’t want to be rude.”

“We'll have to eventually." Through the fog of semi-consciousness comes a smell, a sweet, cloying perfume. “(Y/N), right?”

You open your eyes slowly, trying not to yawn. "Yes?" The woman leaning over you is short, short as Carlie, almost, with a tiny waist and childbearing hips. Her hair is tinted a dark burgundy, and her straight, shiny teeth are displayed proudly as she grins at you.

"Hi! I'm - "

"Sapphire Georgas, age twenty four. Greece, right?" You rub your eyes as you sit up. "Nice to meet you." She shakes your hand, giggling.

Behind her, Rosa Perez, twenty one, of Argentina, crosses her arms. “Well, it’s about time. Your snoring was unbearable.”

“Excuse me?” You don’t snore! At least, you don’t think you do... _Do I?_

“I’m sorry. But, um, it’s nice to meet you. Rosa, right?” Instead of answering, she turns her eyes to the ceiling.

_Oh. Okay._

The others introduce themselves: there’s Rosa, Sapphire, Irina, Alexandra, Rhea, Li Sun, Juliette, and, of course, you. You’re trying to categorize them when you feel a slight shift in the otherwise steady movement of the train. From the others’ reactions, you know you’re not alone.

“Are we speeding up?” Sapphire runs to the window. Rhea shakes her head, smiling almost maternally. From what you’ve seen of your fellow contestants up until now, she is the most mature, by far. “Slowing down, I think.”

Sure enough, when you join Sapphire by the window, you see crowds of people waving and yelling as the train pulls into a new station. You look back at the others. “I think we’re here.”

At once, all seven girls rush for the door, all eager to be the first one out - from what you hear, you’re fairly certain Rosa wins. Let them fight. I’m not rushing. The cameras, the cheering masses - you don’t want any part of it.

The roar of the crowd takes you by surprise, and your eyes widen in shock - only for a moment, though, before you’re forced to shut them against the bright sunlight. Squinting, you can just make out the faces of those closest to the stanchion - mostly girls, mostly young. Your age, give or take a few years. The excitement on their faces - jealousy, for some - hits your heart in the worst way. _They’d probably switch places with me in a heartbeat._

_If only they knew._

You walk closer, following Rhea at a distance of a few yards.

“(Y/N)!”

“Over here, (Y/N)!”

“Lady (Y/N)?” You look down, the smile leaving your face for a moment as you see a little girl, surely no older than six or seven, holding out a Sharpie and a notebook. “Could you please sign my book?”

Taking the book from her, you recognize it as an autograph book, the kind they sell at amusement parks, with a pink fuzzy cover and ribbons on the side to tie it with. Opposite the earliest blank page, Minnie Mouse’s sweet, bouncy signature swoops and curls in purple ink. Little heart above the “i.”

You force yourself to smile again, ignoring the sudden sting of tears. “Of course, sweetie.”

You do your best to make it look pretty. Funny, you’d always dreamed of being a princess, someone little girls looked up to, but this just wasn’t how you’d imagined it happening.

Several other people want your autograph, after that. By the time you finish, you’re stunned and speechless and more than a little emotional, even as you settle yourself in the new train. Slightly scared, too - some of those teenage girls who asked for autographs made comments that were most definitely passive-aggressive.

"You okay?"

"Huh?" You look away from the window to see Irina has slid in next to you. "Yeah, just...thinking."

She smirks, but not unkindly or in a way that comes off as condescending. More...conspiratorial. As though you're an old friend she hasn't seen in a while. "Yeah, you've probably got the most to think about, huh? What's it like, being the only min?"

"What do you mean?"

"Minimum ager," she explains. "Juliette and Li are maxes. I'm twenty, which makes me closest to you, I think, but you're the only teen. So, what do you think?"

"What do I think?" She nods. "Of what?"

She gestures around the train car. "Them. Him. All of this."

"I...I'm scared." It feels good to admit. But then you remember that this is a government train, and you don't know who might be listening. "...of failing."

She raises an eyebrow, and you can tell by the look on her face that she is not buying your flimsy cover up one bit. “Failure?” Thankfully, she lets the issue rest.

Something else occurs to you. “So, how come all of you, like, know English?”

She throws back her head, laughing. “You think I’m speaking English?” She lets out one last snort before getting the giggles under control. “That’s funny.”

“You mean, um, you’re, like - ”

“I’m speaking Russian. To me, you all sound like you’re speaking Russian, too. Sapphire over there probably hears Greek, Rosa’s probably registering Spanish.” She shrugs. “Must be some kind of spell or something. I mean, we’ve got to be able to communicate somehow, right?”

"Whatcha talking about?" The train stops, and Sapphire crashes into you.

You help her to stand. "Ah, my gosh, I’m so sorry 'bout that, I - "

"Nothing to apologize for! You excited?"

You exchange a look with Irina. "Excited?"

"God, yes! When they announced the names, my sister - my twin - looked like she wanted to murder me." She giggles again. "He's gorgeous, isn't he? I know, I know, we haven't even met him in person yet, but let me tell you..."

Exactly what you're supposed to let her tell you, you're not sure, because she trails off, gazing at nothing in particular with a dreamy look on her face. “I mean, I’m, like, nervous. I dunno, I have no idea, like, how to...you know. Live in a palace. I’ll probably fall flat on my face.” As you speak the words, you realize they’re truer than you’d thought. You want to get out as soon as possible...but if you can avoid humiliating yourself on national - sorry, international - television, that would be preferable. “I mean, it’s a bit much. I’m excited, I guess, just not used to being around so many people who aren’t either my age or else teachers.”

Irina laughs. “Girl, I graduated college last year, and let me tell you, you should be glad you don’t have to suffer through all that shit.”

You shrug. “Depends on how long I last.”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Rosa calls across, her voice sickly-sweet.

Irina rolls her eyes. “Back off, Perez,” she says. Before Rosa can retort, the train stops again, much more abruptly than last time, and everyone grabs on to the back of their seats to avoid flying across. Once everything has settled, once you've smoothed down your skirt and helped Irina help Sapphire fix her hair, once the doors open, that's when you speak.

"So, I guess this is it?"

Rhea, waiting by the door, overheats you and nods. "This is it."


	7. Chapter 7

The palace is...well, it’s huge, not to mention beautiful, with walls made of pure white stone and dozens of windows framed in gold. It’s preceded by a large lawn and driveway, and circled by woods that seem to extend well past the limits of your eyesight. Everything is so bright and vivid, the needle-leaved trees scraping the cloudless, cerulean sky, blossoms of every color growing along the driveway and edging the castle itself.

It is an incredibly intimidating sight.

“Come on!” You feel a hand around your wrist, and before you know what’s going on, Sapphire is pulling you into a run. “You don’t want to let them get ahead, do you?”

You don’t really care either way, but you humor her, running until you’re a few feet to the left of Juliette and Li, both of whom throw lofty glances in your direction. Juliette’s hair, a deep, sunrise red, had caught your attention the moment you saw her on the train, but you hadn’t really gotten a good chance to look at Li before - she’s as beautiful as the others, if not more so. Her hair is so black, it has an almost purplish tint to it, contrasting magnificently against the bright, clear aqua of her eyes. She could legitimately pass for a porcelain doll, or a fairy. Even her gait matches - she seems to float, walking with delicate, pixie-like steps. It’s enchanting to watch, but when her eyes flicker back in your direction, you immediately turn your gaze on the white gravel of the ground.

As you place your foot on the first step, you are startled by a loud creak. You and the others watch in awe as the tall, twin doors swing open at a snail's pace, allowing you to take in the foyer little by little. It's still overwhelming - the ceiling is cathedral height, with another tapestry hung up on the emerald walls every few yards. The floors are partially covered by lush green carpeting, like a runway, with thin, shiny stripes of ivory on either side. In between the tapestries are wall lamps, with candelabras beneath - and is that a chandelier you see? Yes, yes it is. Squinting, you make out another one a little further down the hall.

Entering the palace makes you feel as though you have left behind the twentieth century entirely. This new world is impressively, impossibly grandiose, straight from the pages of a fairy tale. You have fallen out of the reality you thought you knew, and into a fantasy swathed in emerald and cream.

"Well, shit," Irina breathes from behind you. You're inclined to agree, and from the expressions on the other girls' faces, so are they.

From the end of the hall, you see...something. A grey line, growing closer and closer; as it approaches, you see that it’s mainly comprised of men in green-grey uniforms - guards? I think? A few yards before reaching you, it stops. The center figure steps out to approach. Heavier, but elegant, clad in a moss-green ball gown, with her waist drawn in (presumably) by a corset and emphasized by the swell of her skirt. As she sweeps forward, the velvet of her dress rustles.

“Good afternoon, girls.” She beams at each of you in turn. “My name is Lady Amara, and I will be your guide for the duration of your stay.” As she speaks, she makes some hand signal at the guards; at once, they all turn sharply, and head back to the end of the hall. One lingers, standing a few feet behind her. You notice, with no small amount of discomfort, that he’s staring at you. When you make eye contact, he licks his lips, and winks at you. You turn your gaze to the floor, suddenly uncomfortable. Lady Amara turns to him, and motions for him to step forward, which he does. “This is Captain Absidor Walden; he is the head guard. He will be going over some of the safety measures which are in place to ensure your security.”

“Good morning, ladies.” His words come out thin and throaty, more rasp than voice. His skin is tanned, his hair slightly longer than a buzz-cut, and although he’s far from ugly, you’re immediately put off by his bearing: he carries himself not like a high-ranking officer, or even a nobleman, but with the cruel arrogance of a slave owner. He looks each of you up and down as he speaks, and you notice again that he spends a little extra time appraising you, though this time you look away before he has a chance to make eye contact. “You all have been allowed one personal item; we will be collecting and checking those before you are escorted to your rooms. You have each been assigned a maid. In case of an emergency, each maid has been provided with a key to their contestant’s room. Upon arriving in your rooms, you will change into one of the outfits provided for you. Your clothes from home are to be discarded; your maid will help you with that. You will be allowed access to both email and ‘snail mail’ one day each week, but any packages containing anything other than a letter will be discarded immediately, a fact which we will inform your primary contacts of.”

Lady Amara nods. “Thank you.” The captain and his guards march back down the hallway, until they’re no more than specks in the distance. “Guards are stationed at each of the castle’s four exits, at the main gates, and at various points throughout the surrounding grounds, including the gardens, the stables, and the woods, which you’ll see later.” She pauses to give you all a tight-lipped smile, head tilted to the side. “Any questions?”

"So, what's Asgard like?"

"And of what concern is that to you?"

Her tone of voice is so sharp that Rosa actually takes a step backwards. "In the contract. It said the winner - "

" - and their family would be moved to Asgard. Yes. Relations between His Majesty and his family are somewhat...strained. Negotiations are currently taking place to alleviate the tension, hence his absence." She pauses to clear her throat. When she begins speaking again, her tone is considerably brighter. "Never fear, though! He is scheduled to return to the palace in seven days, which gives me just enough time to educate you on the behavior expected of you during your stay. For the next week, you will be trained in table etiquette, inter-realm politics, proper dress, etcetera. The king's arrival will likely be commenced with some sort of event, the details of which will be announced a few days prior to his return. Your lessons, however begin now."

"Now?" As in, _now_ now?

She sighs, closing her eyes as though she were suffering from a headache. _And that makes three people who I’ve managed to tick off in one day. Good job, (Y/N). Really solid work._ “Yes, Lady…?”

“(Y/N).”

“Thank you.” She claps her hands together. “To begin with: breakfast will be served at eight o’clock each morning, dinner at five p.m. sharp. Lunch is to be taken at your leisure, though you're welcome to join me in the dining room at twelve thirty. You may want to keep your schedules relatively free once his majesty arrives, as there is no set rotation for how he will be dividing his time up amongst you.” _Does that mean he picks the dates? Do we have the option to say no?_ “You will be shown to your rooms before dinner. This is the Ladies' Parlor; feel free to come here to read, compose letters to your families. Most importantly, we will congregate here each week to watch the weekly segment on television.

"You may notice a distinct lack of modern technology here; the television is a necessary exception, and will only be used to watch the weekly segment. You will also be allowed to contact your families once a week via electronic mail, as Captain Walden mentioned, but you will not be given any other access to the internet.” She looks down the corridor to your right. “Ah, just in time. You each have half an hour to get ready before dinner.

Eight girls, all dressed in plain white aprons atop ebony dresses, line up facing you, four on each side of Lady Amara. The one furthest left is the first one to speak. “Lady (Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

She smiles at you. “This way, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am for your comments and kudos - every single one of them just makes my day! :) I'm going to try and respond to them ASAP! 
> 
> Sorry about any typos (in this chapter and others), I've been rushing a little in terms of proofreading (SATs + AP classes + sickness = NO BUENO), but if you see any typos or any inconsistencies in the text, feel free to call me out on it. Any suggestions, questions, concerns, or constructive criticism in general, let me know in the comments below. :) Love y'alls!
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> DoeEyedDarling


	8. Chapter 8

Sapphire squeezes your hand one last time, and you hand your photo album to Lady Amara before following the maid down the left hallway, which opens up into what looks like another foyer, with another chandelier, and a grand staircase spiraling up as far as you can see, with landings for the different floors. As the two of you continue up, you consider talking to her, but, unsure of what would be appropriate to say, you settle instead for soaking up your surroundings.

Your maid pushes open a door, and you follow her in. “Welcome to your chambers, my lady."

You follow her to the center of the room, taking in your surroundings with no small amount of wonder. The bed is draped with a canopy, in a soft, dusky shade of green that matches the rug and the walls. All of the furniture - bedframe, dresser, armoire - is made of some dark wood, perhaps mahogany. A glance in the hanging mirror makes you blush - the bright, garish colors of your skirt and blouse look ridiculously out of place, especially in comparison to Meg’s modest attire.

She doubles back to gently close the door. "This is the main room, as you can see, and the washroom and closet are there and there, respectively.”

Next to the mirror is a second, slightly smaller dresser. You open the top drawer to reveal a collection of tiaras - coronets, really, thin gold wires woven into intricate designs. The drawer below is filled with countless earrings, from studs to chandelier-types that look much too heavy to possibly be comfortable. Below that are necklaces; below  _ that _ , more bracelets and anklets than you could ever imagine wearing. You look up from your investigation. “Is this whole thing filled with jewelry?”

She nods, looking frightened. “If you’d like more, I could send - ”

“What? No, no, this is more than enough.” It really is - and are they expecting you to be here long enough to even get through a fraction of this stuff? “Closet’s over there?”

“Yes, milady.”

“You can call me (Y/N), by the way.”

“Of course, Lady (Y/N).”

“No, I meant - nevermind. Um, anyway, Meg - that’s a pretty name.”

“It’s short for Margaret, milady.”

“I like it.” You keep nodding for a few seconds, unsure of what more to say. Eventually, you give up, going instead to open the closet door.

_ Wow _ .

_ Um _ .

It’s not a closet, or even a walk-in; it’s about double the size of your bedroom back home, and filled wall-to-wall with dresses, all of them some shade of green. 

“Would you like to pick out your own dress for tonight, milady?”

“Tonight?”

“For dinner, with the other contestants. You have another twenty minutes or so to prepare.”

“Oh.” You vaguely remember Lady Amara saying something to that effect, but the whole day has been such a blur. Plus, you’re still carrying around a feeling of... _ uncleanliness, _ from when that guard winked at you. _Focus, (Y/N)._ “Right. Dinner. Um…” You brush your fingers against the dress nearest to you, pale jade with embroidered white flowers. “How about this?”

There is a long silence. When you turn to face your maid, you see she is biting her lip, wide eyed. “What’s wrong?” 

She blinks, trying to save face. “N-nothing, milady.”

“Meg, I’m not...you can tell me. I don’t really know anything about any of this palace-y stuff.”

“Well…” She twists one corner of her apron. “That particular dress is typically worn under more casual circumstances, Lady (Y/N). A day dress, if you will”

“ _ This  _ is a day dress?”

She nods. “In the evenings, one would generally wear something a bit more elaborate. Like…” She walks to the back of the closet. “This.”

“Oh.” You feel the heat rise in your cheeks as you look between the dress she pulled and the one you’d been pointing to. This new one is a similar shade, but the cut is longer, the fabric richer, and as she walks towards you, you can make out some kind of gemstones sewn to form a pattern on the bodice. You make eye contact with her, suddenly grateful. “Thank you. Oh, God, if I’d gone out in the other one, the others would have laughed me out of the palace.”

She curtsies. “It’s a pleasure, milady.”   


“(Y/N).”

“Of course.” She offers you a timid smile. “Now, let’s get you ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the massive delay, and that this chapter is so short! Hope 2016 is treating everyone well :) Next up, your first dinner with the girls and Lady Amara, followed by the premiere segment on "Good Evening, America!" As always, questions, comments, critiques and requests are all welcome! See you all soon :P
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> DoeEyedDarling


	9. Chapter 9

Leaving your room, you’d worried that you were overdressed - in addition to the glittery gown, Meg had somehow managed to wrangle your post-travel curls into a fairly elegant updo, with little gold pins to keep the twist in place. On top of that, you’re wearing a diamond necklace which, if the gems are real (and you’re pretty certain they are), looks to be worth more than Erik’s yearly tuition. Okay, so maybe that’s an exaggeration, but at any rate, it’s extravagant and unnecessary and surprisingly heavy (thankfully, you managed to talk Meg into pairing it with diamond studs, rather than the dangly things she first suggested).

Walking into the dining room, you realize how unwarranted your fears really were. Compared to the others, you feel decidedly un-Bedazzled; most of them are dripping with the stuff. All of them are, at the very least, wearing a coronet, necklace, and earrings, and they’ve all added their own personal touches on top of that - on Rosa’s left pinky sits a gold band with a single diamond, and you just barely catch a glimpse of a thin gold chain around Juliette’s ankle. Based on their figures, most of them are wearing corsets, as well.

“This seat’s taken.”

“Hm?” You look down to see Rosa with a hand placed on the seat besides her. “Oh. I was just, um, thinking - ”

“That’s fine with me, but would you mind perhaps finding another spot to think?” Her smile and her words don’t quite fit with each other, but you at least have enough perception to move on before she can make another snarky comment.

“This one’s open.” Rhea smiles up at you.  _ It’s so weird, how she can look so young at yet so motherly at the same time. _

Weird...but nice. “Thanks.”

“So, you’re from America?”

“Huh?”

“America is your home country, correct?”

“Yeah, I - and you’re from Germany? You’re from Germany.”

She laughs - not meanly, just a light chuckle. “Yes, Stuttgart.” You must look bewildered, because she goes ahead and clarifies. “My city.”

“Oh. Cool. I’m from - ”

“Ladies, ladies, ladies!” Lady Amara sweeps into the hall, clapping her hands three times. “Ah, you all look lovely. Thank you for being on time. I trust you found your lodgings to be to your liking?” A chorus of agreement sounds across the room. “Excellent. Our waiting staff has prepared a fairly simplistic meal for tonight, only four courses - I'm sure some of you are still feeling the effects of travel, and we wouldn’t want to overwhelm you on your first day.” She chuckles. “Nevertheless, we have provided you each with a complete table setting, if you’ll look just in front of you, and I’d like to precede our meal with a bit of a brush up, for those of you unfamiliar with this sort of thing.”

You’d only glanced at the table setting before; now that it has your full attention, you’re more than a little overwhelmed. "There's so many," you whisper to Rhea.

She nods, still smiling. You swear, you hear someone mutter, "Looks like  _ someone _ didn't do her homework..."

"Excuse me?"

"Lady (Y/N), is there something you'd like to share?" Lady Amara looks unamused. 

"No, ma'am. I mean, my lady."

"Well, then, perhaps you could demonstrate for us which utensil is to be used first in a meal such as the one displayed here.” She gestures to the board, where she has written, quite simply, a list of food items.

_ Crap. Um, okay. Let’s see what we can do. _ The first item written on the board is  _ tea, _ so, clearly, you’ll have to use a spoon. Which would be a relief, if there weren’t one...two... _ three _ of those before you. “Um...this one?” You pick up the one above your plate, which is smallest - teaspoons are small, right? - pinching the end of it between your thumb and forefinger so that it dangles in the air.

Lady Amara snorts - rather ungracefully, in your opinion - and shakes her head, flicking a dismissive hand in your direction. “That is a  _ dessert _ spoon, Lady (Y/N). Lady Rosa?”

Plastering a sweeter-than-sugar smile on her stupid, perfect face, Rosa picks up the correct spoon, the innermost one, and holds it up. Lady Amara applauds her, and you feel something sharp hit your shin. “Ow!” You glare at Rosa, who winks at you before resuming a bewildered, innocent expression.

Lady Amara’s attention is once again on you. “Lady (Y/N), if you could please refrain from the constant disruptions, we would all be grateful.” She rolls the words off her tongue, biting down on the  _ t _ ’s. “And don’t crease your forehead so. It does dreadful things for one’s skin.”

You nod, fighting the temptation to argue. Accusing Rosa would only make you seem immature, downright bratty, even. You really want to kick her back, but the cameras - stupid,  _ stupid _ cameras - are rolling, so you’re forced to settle for clenching and unclenching your fists underneath the table, instead.

“Napkins are to be placed where?”  _ Ooh! I actually know this one! _ You raise your hand eagerly, receiving in return an eye roll from Lady Amara. She calls on you anyway. “Lady (Y/N)?”

“On the lap, my lady.”

She raises her eyebrows, apparently impressed that you spoke without embarrassing yourself for once. “Naturally.”

It isn’t really a compliment...but it’s a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you enjoy the new chapter :) I'm currently in the middle of AP exam hell, but I promise to get to the comments ASAP (most likely tomorrow afternoon). Chapter 10 is in the works! 
> 
> Thank you guys for your patience, and I'll see you soon!
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> DoeEyedDarling


	10. Chapter 10

_ “Hello, and welcome to Good Evening, America! You saw them enter their names. You watched as they were selected. And today, our eight Chosen girls each hopped on a train - or plane - out of their hometowns, and arrived at the palace. For the next seven days, they will engage in a crash course on palace life, from table settings to corsets and everything in between. But first, let’s see just how their journey went.”  _

A montage plays, images and footage of each girl leaving their friends and family behind. You smile at the video of Carlie standing on tiptoe to give you a kiss on the cheek - she’ll get a kick out of that. The sight of your hug with Dad, though, tugs at your heart.

_ “The first unofficial test came upon their arrival at a station just outside the palace, where they were able to meet citizens harking from locations across the globe, all clamoring for the attentions of the eight queens-in-training. The immediate favorites seem to be Germany’s Rhea Unz and Rosa Perez of Argentina. Lady Rhea seems to have won over the crowd with her regal conduct and Mona Lisa smile - it’s almost as though she were born royalty, wouldn’t you agree, Rick?” _

Richard Morgenstern, Ashley’s co-host, grinned at the camera. _ “Yep. As for Lady Rosa, I think this right here sums it up.”  _ Rosa is every bit as intimidating on film as she is in real life, strutting past the crowds as if she owned the place, long blond hair streaming behind her. _ “I mean, wow.” _

_ “All right, Ricky, take it easy on the testosterone,”  _ laughs Ashley, playfully whacking his hand before turning to face the camera. _ “Be sure to check out the Good Evening, America website to read our Chosen profiles, see video updates from your favorite contestants, and let us know who you think is going to take home the crowd - or, rather, let the crown take them!” _

Richard nods. _ “This is Ashley Marino and Richard Morgenstern, signing off.”  _


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't love a good ol' fashioned gossip session? That is, until it's interrupted by Lady Amara, bearing some...um...interesting news. Enjoy!

“It’s like being locked in a basement or something,” you complain. Six days in, and you’re still feeling the withdrawal effects of being cut off from all technology.

Rosa raises an eyebrow. “Pretty nice basement.”

She has a point. The seven of you - Irina wasted no time in befriending the stable staff, and is currently taking advantage of what she called “a perfect riding day” - are sitting on a blanket in the field behind the castle. Not exactly a picnic, since you have no food, but it’s better than the alternative of sitting in your room (you probably would have stayed inside your room anyway, if Sapphire hadn’t invited you - she looked so excited, you couldn’t refuse). And the weather is stunning - clear blue skies, not too sunny, and a suspicious lack of insects.

You can see almost everything from here, with the exception of the fences. That was the lesson your second day - geography, by way of studying maps of the palace grounds. Between the gardens, the open fields, the lake, the surrounding woods, and the castle itself, the whole thing encompasses nearly 1000 acres of land. You’re surprised they’d even bother with fences - even just getting that far seems impossible - but they’re there, three stories high and electric, to boot (the other exception to the “no technology” rule).

“No, it’s definitely nice, but the fact that we’re stuck here indefinitely? With no outside contact? Basement.”

“Or a glass box,” Rhea offers.

“A snow globe!” Sapphire chimes in. “Minus the snow.”

“And with double-sided mirrors. They can see everything we do, and all we know is what’s going on here.”

You all turn to look at Li. “Wow,” Rosa says. “That’s deep.”

She smiles, blushing. “Thanks.”

“I love it here,” Sapphire declares. “It’s...different.”

“I just wish my room had a better view,” Juliette complains. “The courtyards are pretty, but it just makes me even more claustrophobic.”

You jump in. “At least your room isn’t that high up. I have to go up twelve flights of stairs!”

Rosa smirks. "Can't imagine what you must have done to annoy the king _already._ "

"The king?" None of you have mentioned his name in conversation yet. Even so far away from home, it feels taboo, too dangerous to say aloud. “What’s that got to do with it?”

She nods slowly with wide eyes, as though talking to a two year old. "The king is the one who gave us our room assignments."

"I don't believe that," Li mutters. Rosa turns on her, eyes flashing.

"Oh, really? Wait until he meets us. I would be willing to bet _money_ that the first girl to be sent home is the one with the room furthest from his."

“We don’t have money,” Rhea points out.”

“Jewelry, then.”

“Hm.” Li’s mouth twitches up in a smirk. “How about that necklace?”

Her hand immediately flys to grab it. It’s a thin chain, long enough that it disappears under the neckline of her dress. “Not for sale.”

“Your anklet, then.”

“For the coronet you wore yesterday at breakfast? Done.” The two shake on it.

"But how would he know?" You wrinkle your nose in confusion. "The contestants were chosen at random."

"Right." Rosa scoffs. "D'you really believe that?"

You look around. “Well, we’re all of us pretty different.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” she replies. “A little _too_ different, don’t you think?”

All the other girls shake their head, except Rhea. “I see what you’re saying,” she says slowly.

“I still don’t get it,” you mutter.

Rosa glares at you. “Of course _you_ don’t. Care to explain, _Rhea_?” Even sweet-tempered Rhea’s name sounds like poison on Rosa’s lips, but the other girl ignores it.

“Look around you, (Y/N). None of us are from the same country. You’re sixteen, Li and Juliette are thirty, and the rest of us are scattered pretty evenly between the two. Here, you have girls not only from different cultural backgrounds, but with a mix of ages and appearances. It’s desperately random; someone must have hand-picked us all. Make sure the king has some variety to choose from, you know?”

You nod, finally grasping the concept. “Well, I hate to limit the king’s choices, but I’m getting out of here as soon as humanly possible.”

Sapphire’s jaw drops. “You’d give this up?”

“The chance to be the king’s little...plaything? Yes, and gladly.”

“You’d be a good sex slave, (Y/N).” You turn around, shocked to see who the speaker is - you don’t think you’ve heard Lexie utter more than a few words all weekend. She shrugs, giggling. “Don’t be offended or anything - I just mean you look the part. Innocent, you know? Corruptable. Guys dig that.” You can’t help but stare at her as she pulls a makeup compact from her pocketbook and applies a fresh coat of lip gloss, partially out of disbelief - what do you say to a comment like that? - and partially because you’re just now noticing how pretty she is, how her cheeks dimple every time she smiles. All of the girls here are pretty, gorgeous, really, and you can’t help but wonder why on Earth they’d have picked you, if they were really trying to give “the king” a good selection. No matter; it’ll only be that much easier to get yourself sent home first.

You hope.

“Ladies!”

Everyone freezes. “Five minutes of peace,” Rosa mutters. “Is that too much to ask?

Lady Amara sweeps towards your picnic, Walden and a maid at her heels. “Wonderful news! Is everyone here?”

“Lady Irina is at the stables,” Sapphire pipes up. Lady Amara flicks a hand at the maid, who goes running - presumably to find Irina and tell her the “wonderful news.”

“Now that that’s taken care of, is everyone else accounted for?” You all nod. “Excellent. I hope you’ve all enjoyed the past few days of rest.”  _ That was rest? _ “His Majesty will be arriving tomorrow afternoon!”

You don’t bother looking around you, but you’re sure the other girls’ faces reflect the same things you feel - anxiety, fear, and sheer terror, to name a few.

“Tomorrow evening, we will be celebrating his return with a bal masqué. You will have your first opportunity to display what you have learned in a public setting, and have your first interactions with His Majesty. You will be responsible for your own costumes, hair, and makeup - you will all, upon returning to your rooms, find a sketchbook and various artistic implements. Your maids will be there to assist you, and of course to create your costume once you have finished the design.” You hear a faint murmur behind you - clearly, none of you were expecting to be tossed into an episode of Project Runway. “Though this is  _ not _ a contest, your creation will be the first impression the public receives of your personal style, and of the image you are trying to portray.” She consults her clipboard. “Let's see, what else... The eight of you will be dressing as animals - you may design your costumes however you’d like within that theme - and although the other guests will be masked, you will not, as you will be the centerpieces, shall we say, of the event. Any questions?” Nobody budges. “Excellent. I suggest you all head to your rooms to begin the creative process. Good luck!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random fun fact: the "you'd be a good sex slave" was an actual comment made by one of my friends during a birthday party - as a joke, of course, but it struck me as so funny at the time that I had to throw it in.  
> Also random: is there anybody that'd be interested in a male!Reader version of this story? I don't want to take out all the girly details in this version, but I'd consider publishing a M/M version alongside it, if that's something anyone would want to see. Let me know in the comments below! Thank you all for reading. :)
> 
> xoxo,  
> DoeEyedDarling


	12. Chapter 12

You’re lost.

It’s a little after nine. Breakfast had been a quiet affair - all the girls (yourself included) had been up late trying to pull together a costume for tonight’s festivities. You’d passed out sometime around three, and you were relieved to see that everyone else was every bit as exhausted as you. Lady Amara prattled on about the exact schedule for the evening, not even stopping when Sapphire went so far as to fall asleep on the table (luckily, Rosa was able to pull the plate of food out of the way before she could faceplant into it). 

You were all relieved when Lady Amara finished her meal and flounced off to finish decorations for the party. Everyone split, presumably to finish their costumes. Personally, you were hoping to squeeze in a nap first, but that was before you absentmindedly took a turn down the wrong hallway.

So.

Here you are. 

On the bright side, you’re awake. On the down side, you have absolutely no idea where you are.

You consider the possibilities:

1) You can stand here until someone finds you, and end up looking like an idiot.

2) You can attempt to find the way back to your room, get even more lost, and end up looking like an even bigger idiot.

3) You can attempt to find the way back to your room and, by some miracle, manage to actually find it.

You're feeling fairly optimistic as you begin making your way down the corridor. Ten minutes later, you still have no idea where you are in relation to your room, but your surroundings looks familiar - that’s a good sign, right? 

Maybe a little  _ too _ familiar. 

Come to think of it, you’ve seen that banner before, and those doors...but the tapestry is different - and was that last turn you made a right or a left?

Suddenly, you stop.  _ Is that food? _

You take another deep breath, and, sure enough, your nose is met with the scent of breakfast.  _ They must still be clearing out the dining room. _ Relieved, you hike up your skirts and run.

But the closer you get, you realize that the smell isn’t the only thing that’s getting stronger - so are the noises. Chatter, more than that of seven girls, and...clanging? It’s getting hotter, too.

You push open the huge doors before you, and walk straight into a cloud of steam. When your vision clears, you find yourself facing an enormous room, filled with girls in black dresses and white aprons. They scurry about, some carrying pots, some piles of fabric - through a door to the side, you catch a glimpse of a side room filled with sewing machines - and for the first time, you realize the sheer scale of the palace staff, because  _ wow, _ there are a lot of them.

You slip off to another side room, which appears to be a locker room. It’s empty - the work day must be in full swing - so you grab a random uniform off of a hook on the wall and strip. When you’re done, you shove your own clothes into an locker. 

“Hey, you!”

“Huh?” You swirl around, tying the final knot on the apron as you do so. The woman in front of you appears to be in some position of power; her clothing is far from elaborate, but her black dress is apronless, and is longer than most of the others.

“You’re late. And - ” She squints, sizing you up. “You’re new. We weren’t told about a new girl. Name?”

“(Y/N).” If you were slightly less caught off guard, you might have come up with a fake name, but it’s too late now. “Yeah. (Y/N).”

She seems to recognize the name, and you feel your stomach sink. But instead of reprimanding you, she sighs. "I swear, I don't know  _ what _ you girls are trying to accomplish by coming here. The contestants are already done and chosen; you really think he's going to go for some serving girl? Not that he ever comes down here, to begin with."  _ What? _ You shrug, and she sighs, waving you away. "Yeah, yeah. All right, well, since you're here, you might as well do something. You'll follow Margaret around for today. Meg!" she calls over her shoulder.

"Yesm?" 

There she is, your maid, down here in the kitchens. She looks at you, wide-eyed with recognition. You shake your head.  _ Please, Meg… _

"This is, uh, '(Y/N).'" She leans into Meg and mutters, "Another one of them groupies." Returning her voice to its normal volume, she continues, "She's gonna follow you around. Let her make herself useful, if she's competent; if not, just keep her out of the way, all right?"

"Yesm," Meg says, her eyes still fixed firmly on you, before heading for the exit. You follow on her heels. 

You reach the end of the hall before stopping, glancing back to make sure the Head Maid can’t hear or see you. You tap her on the shoulder. “Thank you so much.”

“Lady (Y/N), what happened? What are you doing here?”   


“I...got lost?” You aren’t quite sure why it comes out as a question, but there it is.

Meg sighs. “Come, I’ll help you back to your room.”

“Wait!” She looks at you quizzically. “Let me help you.”

“What?”

“I’ll come with you! Please, Meg, I’m  _ super _ bored. I can’t just sit around in my room all day, and if Lady Amara catches me in the hallway, she’ll put me to work doing...I don’t know, outlines or something. Please. I won’t be in your way.”

“I don’t know if that would be wise, milady. I’m on the rotation today to clean His Majesty’s quarters…”

“That’s perfect! Lady Amara said he isn’t getting here until, like, late this afternoon - there’s no chance he’ll catch us. Promise.”

“Alright, milady. If you insist. Let me just…” She reaches forward and adjusts your uniform.“There. Now you look the part.”

“Thank you, Meg.”

The king’s quarters look...surprisingly normal. Well, not exactly normal - the entrance room alone is the size of your own bedroom in the palace - but stylistically, it’s pretty similar to what you’ve seen of the palace so far. “So, does that happen a lot?”

“Sorry?” She glances back at you from the side closet, and then tosses you a clean rag. “Does what happen a lot?”

“What...what the head lady said. About girls coming down here to work in the kitchens. Does that happen a lot?”

She shrugs. “Every so often.”

“How do they even find the palace?” You follow her lead as she begins to dust the surrounding furniture - the desk, the coffee table, the chairs. 

“They go to government offices and volunteer. Most of the staff was hired before the competition, but...some people have an idealized vision of what this is like.” 

“You don’t?”

She freezes. “I didn’t - I mean - ”

“Meg. It’s okay.”

She takes a deep breath before continuing. “It’s easier for us to have a realistic view of the competition. The servants, all of us, but especially the maids, because we are the only ones interacting with the other classes. For girls outside...most of them don’t want this, I think. From what I’ve seen of you and your fellow contestants, you all...you all see this for what it is. That’s good.”

“But some people think it’s a fairy tale.”

“They want to, at any rate. The curtains are dusty, as well - here, I’ll show you how to clean them.”

You lapse back into a comfortable silence. Meg is easy to talk to, but she has the class system so internalized that she still has trouble not calling you by your title. You haven’t figured out where she comes from - her accent is British, but with the weird language spell covering this place, you have no idea whether she’s even from this planet - but she’s opening up, bit by bit. She’s an only child. Her mother didn’t want her to come, but the pay was good. She’s grateful to be a maid, to not be stuck scrubbing pots all day. She has small, skilled hands, visibly smooth but rough to the touch, and she moves with purpose. She has worked hard to get where she is, even if it isn’t exactly where she’d like to be.

“So, Meg - ”

The door creaks open, and both of you freeze simultaneously.  _ It’s still early morning, he can’t be  _ -

“Oh. Are you almost finished?”

_ Crap. _


	13. Chapter 13

Meg whips about. “Yes, just about, Your Majesty.” She takes a few steps forward so that she’s standing in front of you, as you just about bury your face in the curtains.

“I need assistance with a report."

"Of course, Your Majes - "

He flicks a hand in her direction. "The other girl is still cleaning the drapes, is she not? She can help me when she's finished. You are dismissed." When she doesn't move, he looks up, clearly annoyed. "I  _ said _ you may go."

Her gaze remains fixed on you. "Of course, Your Majesty. Thank you." You hear the door slam behind her, and now you're alone. 

With him.

Dressed as a maid.

Well,  _ this _ should be fun to try and explain your way out of.

"Your Majesty, considering I'm relatively new here, maybe I should, uh, call back Meg? She's probably better suited to do...whatever it is you need me to do."

"Come here."

You freeze. "Sorry?"

He rolls his eyes. "Are you hard of hearing, girl? I said, come here."

You comply, grateful for the first time that your cap is loose enough to cover your eyes. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Did I ask you to speak?"

"...no."

"Your Majesty."

"Right. I mean, no, Your Majesty."

"How long have you been working here?" he asks, cocking his head. You keep your gaze on the floor, tucking in your chin. 

"I-I started today."

"And how old are you?"

"Um...twenty."

He frowns. "Do you live nearby?"

You shake your head. "No, my lord. I come from America."

"America? Why would you ever think of coming here to work?" You shrug, and he sighs. "Go back to the kitchens and send back someone more experienced. I suggest you return to your home country...what did you say your name was?"

_ Um, um, um...  _ "Carlie. Your Majesty."

"Right." He turns back to the papers. "Go on."

He doesn't need to tell you twice. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the masquerade :)

You’re late. The first event of the whole goddamn competition, and you’re running late. If it gets you disqualified, great, but what if it gets you vaporized, or vanished (or something)? With those lovely images in mind, you race down the hall, sliding to a stop just outside the ballroom doors.

The music floats through the door, along with enough chatter for you to estimate how full the ballroom actually is - too full for comfort. But you’re dressed, and you’re here - and, besides, you didn’t run down however many flights of stairs to get here just to turn around and run.

So you breathe.

And you step forward.

And you place a hand on each of the doors, pushing gently until they open in front of you.

Immediately, your stomach drops. There are even more people than you’d expected, all in opulent animal costumes - a menagerie of guests. By the bottom of the staircase, a woman in a snakeskin ensemble clinks glasses with a man dressed as a mouse; the dance floor is teeming with feathered headdresses and fur coats, hair teased and makeup applied with a heavy hand.

The herald mistakes your intimidation for fear of tardiness. “Don’t worry, milady, you’ve arrived just in time. May I have your name?” You tilt your head at him questioningly. “To announce.”

“In a moment.” You want to take a second to scan the scene. Everyone is masked except for the other Chosen girls: there’s Rosa by the punch bowl, in her sexed-up bunny getup, though you can’t help but notice she has more skin on display than fabric. Rhea looks serenely, but alert, dressed as a cat; Irina, of course, chose a horse, her hair braided on the sides so that the back is loose in a mohawk-esque “mane.” Juliette is a koi fish, you think, the myriad of brightly colored fabrics setting off her fiery locks to perfection. Lexie is a wolf, Sapphire a fox (or maybe Sapphire’s a wolf, and Lexie’s a fox - it’s hard to tell from here), and Li appears to be a panther, sleekly magnificent in a black-and-gold ensemble, all chatting on some of the couches in the back. 

Everyone looks so much older in person than in their pictures; not  _ old  _ old, but mature. Sexy. Like they know what they’re doing. You're left standing there in the doorway in your soft browns and tans, feeling young and foolish and very, very small.

“And what are you?”  

_ Of course.  _ You attempt to conceal your discomfort at his proximity - he’s barely two inches away. “A deer...my lord.”

It comes out as more of a question - getting used to court-speak is going to take more than a few days - but Walden laughs it off. “How charming.”

“Thank you. Your costume…” He is, in fact, costume-less, clad only in his typical uniform. “That is to say, you look very...nice?”  _ Maybe if I’m nice, he’ll leave me alone? _

“Thank you, thank you. You know, Lady (Y/N) - no need to look so shocked, it wasn’t hard to recognize you at all - for the past few days, I have been unable to dismiss you from my mind.”

“Oh?”  _ Don’tpanicdon’tpanicdon’tpanic _

He leans in, his lips brushing your ear. It’s too public a setting for you to defend yourself - you can’t do anything but stand there, paralyzed. “In fact - ”

“Miss, your name?” 

_ Thank God. _ “Um, (Y/N). Of America. I mean, the United States of America.”

He nods, turning to announce it to the room. Before you emerge from the shadows, Walden leans in one more time. “Be sure to save at least one dance for me.”

You pretend not to hear him, smiling as brightly as you can as you make your way down the stairs. Most, if not all, of the heads in the room turn to watch your descent. To your relief, the staircase is short, and your moment in the spotlight ends quickly, too quickly for your nerves to really kick in.

“Now that all of our Chosen ones have arrived, we will begin our first partnered dance of the evening!” calls the announcer. “Gentlemen, now is the time to seek out the lady of your choice.”

“Milady?” The owner of this new voice stands behind you, looking down with a charming grin. “May I have this dance?”  _ Where do I know that voice from? _

“Of - of course.” You take his offered elbow and allow him to lead you to the dance floor, where a slow waltz has begun. His cape is covered in large black feathers that gleam green where they catch the light. Beneath it, he wears a well-fitted suit, with a black top hat and black feathered mask obscuring the entire top half of his face - you can barely see his eyes at all. “You’re a raven.” 

He nods. “And you?”

“A deer, my lord."  _ There, _ you think triumphantly,  _ that sounded almost natural. _

He appraises you with raised eyebrows, mildly amused. “More fawn than doe, I should think. You’re far too young to be here.”

"Excuse me?" You’re more than a little insulted. Yes, you are the youngest of the contestants here, but you don’t look  _ that _ young. More than a few times, salesclerks at home have mistaken you for a college student, or an intern.  _ Maybe it's just the costume.  _ “I’m sixteen. Old enough - according to the paperwork, at least.”

He smirks. “Ah. So  _ you’re _ Lady (Y/N), then.”

“I - yes. Yes, I am, _my_ _lord_.” You say the last bit with a smidge of resentment - this man is obviously a member of the court, the very people that decided upon the age minimum. Who is he to criticize you? "And you are?"

He laughs, twisting back to look at you as he leads you onto the dance floor. "You already told me."

"What?"

"You guessed my costume already."

"I asked who you are, not what. I'm talking names."

"Wouldn't that defeat the purpose of a disguise?" he asks, gesturing to his outfit and mask. 

You purse your lips to the side, shrugging. “I’m just trying to level the playing field a bit.” 

He skims the room, his gaze lingering a moment on each of the other women. “I’m not the one you’re competing against.”

“Excuse me?”  _ Did I ask for your sass?  _ You only stop dancing for a moment, but it’s enough for you to stumble when he continues to move. He practically carries you the next few steps, sweeping you around the room as you clutch him for balance, until he finally leads you to the edge of the floor so that you can have a second to collect yourself.

“Your wit is matched only by your grace, I see,” he quips. You glare at him. "I promise you, Lady (Y/N), you will know my name by the end of the evening."

"You swear?" You extend your pinky. He stares at it, unsure of how to respond.  _ I guess they don't do pinky promises where he's from. _ You blush - how immature must you seem to him? "It's, um, an American thing, I guess. You stick out your pinky finger, like this, see, and then we hook them together like that - " A spark of electricity jumps from his finger to yours, and you both flinch. Almost immediately, you turn up to meet his gaze. His hat has slipped back, revealing the glimmer of a faint smile in his startlingly  _ green _ eyes.

His eyes. His voice. 

_ Holy - _

"You - you're - "

He cocks his head. "Am I?"

"You - "

"The next dance is about to start, my lady." Instead of protesting, you allow him to place your hands for you - one in his, the other on his shoulder. He is a good dancer, you have to admit -  _ like I have anything else to compare it to. _ At least, he keeps you afloat, leading you gently but firmly through the second waltz.

And the third.

And the fourth.

By the fifth, you don’t care that your feet are aching in your kitten heels, or that your hair is beginning to come loose from the delicate “ears” your maid braided it into. Because you - you, (Y/N), average 20th century teen from New York - are having a good time. Because this alien king turns out to be quite the conversationalist, though he may be a bit blunt at times. Because you only have two options at this point: stay cool, or freak out, and as much as you'd like to choose the latter, it's a little late for that. 

Besides, he really is a good dancer.

“So, um, Your Maje - ”

"Shhh." All at once, he steps forward and pulls you even closer, pressing one finger to his lips. "We mustn't ruin it for the rest of the crowd, don't you think?"

You nod mutely, all too aware of the lack of space between you two. Even through the fabric, his hand is cold on your waist, but not unpleasant. He lets his other hand drift down from your mouth, gently tracing the line of your collarbone until it disappears beneath your sleeve, at which point he simply runs his hand down your arm in one long, slow stroke. It’s done absentmindedly, like he isn’t even aware of the hypnotic effect he has.

You take a step back, blinking away the dizziness. "We’ve been dancing for a while, don’t you think? Maybe we should - "

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, we will commence the unmasking! Partners, please line up across from each other. Men on this side..yes, there we are..."

You look up at him with fear-widened eyes, and he, reading your expression, nods. “Come, I’ll show you.” As you cross to the middle of the dance floor, he leans down to whisper to you, "It's quite simple, really."

“Do we really have to?” you whisper back, eliciting another laugh. You attach yourselves to the end of the line. It actually is pretty simple, as long as you follow his lead - he bows, you curtsy, and that’s basically it. Then, both men and women reach up to carefully untie the strings of their masks in one hand, holding them in place with the other until the official signal is given.

When the masks finally come off, everyone in the ballroom gasps. For the first time since you’ve arrived, you feel everyone’s eyes on you - only this time, their gazes aren’t going anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all are having a wonderful holiday season! May your New Year be full of health, hope, and happiness. :)
> 
> xoxo,  
> DoeEyedDarling


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Spider's Waltz" is inspired by the Entwine from Heather Dixon's book Entwined - it's a take on the fairy tale "The Twelve Dancing Princesses."  
> Any way, now that Loki's actually IN the story, be prepared for more Loki-filled-goodness to come. ;)

His eyes are the only things keeping you anchored amidst all the murmurs and sidelong glances. Slowly, people begin to return to their former stances, picking at hors d'oeuvres or dancing or chatting in corners - though now you can’t help but feel as though they’re all talking about you.

The herald speaks up again. “As per tradition, His Majesty will now select a partner to dance the Spider’s Waltz!”

_ Aaaand here’s where I make my exit.  _ You’ve already received heaps more attention tonight than you’d wanted, and any dance with the word “spider” in it isn’t a dance you want to participate in. You turn to Loki to make your excuses, but you stop upon seeing the wicked glint in his eye. From seemingly nowhere, he produces a long, silvery-black ribbon. You flinch as he offers you the other end, taking it gingerly between forefinger and thumb. 

_ "Me?" _ you mouth. 

"The rules of this dance are few, and easy to understand," says the announcer. "The gentleman attempts to trap the lady using the ribbon, while she must do everything in her power to escape his ministrations. Neither party may at any time let go of the ribbon."

As he speaks, Loki walks back to the center of the floor, leading you by the length of thin black silk, and you wonder how on Earth you are going to pull this off without falling flat on your face. You stand on opposite sides of the grand insignia, the ribbon pulled taut.

"And...begin!"

The music starts, a slow, creeping vine of a melody, accompanied by a sharp tug on the ribbon. You stumble forward, ducking just in time. Coming up on the other side, you flash him a quick grin of victory, twirling away before you can see his response. You hear a mixture gasps and laughs from the audience, some even applauding you. 

You both begin to pace, circling each other, him looking wily and certain of himself. Still, you are determined - you're not going down that easily. The dance stretches on for what feels like hours, changing even in its repetition - you're never sure what technique he'll next employ. Still, you twist and turn and leap, somehow managing to evade capture, but never quite as ahead of him as you’d like. 

Suddenly, he’s behind you, and he jerks the ribbon again. You are forced around, and as you struggle to catch your balance, with a flick of his wrist he has caught both of yours, walking towards you with slow, measured steps as he twists the ribbon again and again. 

You are, well and truly, trapped.

"A great effort, Lady (Y/N)," he murmurs, tugging on the ribbon once more so that you are pulled against his chest. "But it would seem your lack of experience has lost you this dance."

"Yeah," you say breathlessly. "I'd have to agree."

He smiles, reaching up to tuck a flyaway strand of hair behind your ear. "I think it'd be best if we retired from the dance floor for a while. The others are eager to have a chance."

Seeing the dark looks most of the other Chosen are giving you, you're not so sure it's the dance floor they're after.  _ So? Who cares what they think?  _ "Um, sure."

“So,” he begins as you make your way towards the stairs. “Are you enjoying your stay thus far?”

You freeze.  _ He’s the god of lies. Patron. God. I think. So do I lie and say yes, or risk angering him with the truth? Will he be able to tell either way? How about a neutral answer? That could work… _

“That bad, hm?”

“What? No, no! I, um, it’s great. Really...lovely. I’m just a little homesick, that’s all.”

“Have the other women been friendly?”

_ Do you ever ask any easy questions? _ “Well, we haven’t had much time to socialize.”

He scrunches up his nose in confusion. You have to admit, it’s kind of adorable. “What in the nine realms have you been doing this past week, then?”

“That is...an  _ excellent _ question, my lord,” you begin, stretching your words as much as you possibly can, trying to buy yourself a little time to think. “I, um...I explored my room.”

“I see.”

“I wrote my parents and siblings.”

“Mmhm.”

_ What else, what else...I fended off the unwanted advances of your creepy head guard?  _ “I talked to Meg. My maid.”

“You have conversations with your serving girl?”

“Yes.” You look to the side nervously. “Why? Is that against the rules or something?”

“No, not at all. It’s just...surprising.”

“I try,” you say sweetly, batting your eyelashes playfully, the way you would if you were talking to one of your friends back home. “What can I say? I’m just full of surprises.”

“Yes, you are.”

It’s only now that you notice the two of you have left the confines of the ballroom entirely, and are wandering in the garden. It’s completely different at night. The scent of jasmine, the way the trees seem to catch and hold the moonlight in their branches, everything about it is simply magical.

“So, have you met any of the other girls yet?”

“Have you seen me with any of them this evening?”

“Well...no.”

He nods. “There’s your answer, then.”

“Hm. It seems pretty unkingly of you, shirking responsibilities like that.” You mean it as a joke, but realize too late that it came out a bit too serious in tone. “I don’t mean - ”

“One of the privileges of being monarch is not having to answer to a higher power.” He winks. “I could stay out here all night with you and not face any repercussions.”

“Oh. Right.” How is it that a simple movement of the eye has the power to fluster you so? "I. Um."

"Do you always speak so eloquently?"

"No?"

Suddenly, you are surrounded by the deep, strong chimes of an unseen clock. Twelve of them. You flinch, causing him to chuckle. "What, is it past your bedtime?"

You glare up at him. "I'm sixteen years old, not sixteen months. You don't look so ancient yourself."

"I'm one thousand forty eight in Midgardian years."

_ Oh. Yeesh. _ "Out of?"

"The average life expectancy on Asgard is somewhere around five thousand Midgardian years, give or take a century or so."

You close your eyes a moment, doing some rough mental calculations. "So you're just out of your teens?"

He looks confused. "I - "

"Nineteen,  _ maybe _ twenty?" You flash him a smug smile of your own. "Looks like I'm not the only one out past curfew."

"Curfew?"

"For someone so hell-bent on ruling the human race, you really didn't do your homework, did you?"

"Homework?"

You roll your eyes. "Case in point." You glance back at the ballroom reluctantly. "We probably should get going."

He shrugs, as though he couldn't care less. "I suppose. This event was for me to meet all of you, after all."

"After all." You peer at your wrist with great exaggeration, checking an imaginary watch. "And it is after my bedtime, as a matter of fact." You can tell from the quiet laugh he emits that he knows you're joking. "And besides, I don't want to be selfish." You turn your attention back on him - or, at least, on where he was standing a moment ago. "Your Majesty?" You bend down to pick up a piece of creamy jade stationary. 

**_Lady (Y/N),_ **

**_It was interesting, meeting you. Thank you for your time._ **

**_L.L._ **

_ Well, that was abrupt, _ you think.  _ At least he left a note.  _

You still aren’t quite sure what to make of your charming, alien, supposedly-psychopathic host. If anything, you’re even more confused.

You weren’t expecting him to be so...well,  _ human _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy almost New Year, darlings! Fingers crossed that 2017 ends up being a better year than the last.
> 
> xoxo,  
> DoeEyedDarling


	16. Chapter 16

He’s eating breakfast with you.  _ Holy _ \- he’s actually eating with you. Not you personally, of course, but still - he’s sitting at the head of the dining room table, opposite Lady Amara (who’s positively beaming at this development), Rosa and Lexi on either side. You sit next to Lexi, trying your best to be inconspicuous. So far, you think you’re doing pretty okay.

Of course, something has to come along and ruin it. 

“So, Lady (Y/N),” Sapphire starts - you’re all very much aware of the way you address each other in “His Majesty’s” presence - that was some impressive dancing you did last night.”

You freeze, a forkful of pancake halfway to your mouth. “Thank you?” You feel Lady Amara’s gaze burning into you from the other end of the table, and you lower your fork to the plate hastily. “I, um, had an excellent partner, of course.” You wince internally. You’d meant to avoid tension by moving the attention to Loki, but you sound like you’re bragging about the fact that you were the first one he’d danced with. “I mean - ”

“You really were wonderful, Your Highness,” Sapphy chimes in, and you heave a sigh of relief.  _ Bless her. _ “You were just - oh, my God!”

A servant has tripped, nearly spilling coffee on her. He regains his balance, but an empty cup on the edge of his tray falls to the floor, shattering upon impact. The room falls silent as he scrambles to clean the mess.

“Stop.”

The silence intensifies, if that’s possible. The servant looks up at Loki with a mixture of fear and terror. Your stomach twists just watching him. “Your Majesty?”

“Come here.”

The servant slowly leaves the mess on the floor and approaches him, head bent. Loki rises to his full height, looking even more intimidating than before. “I am so, so sorry - ”

“Silence.” The man obeys. “What is your name?”

“A-Albert, Your Majesty.”

“You are dismissed. Permanently.”

_ Did...did he just fire him for tripping and dropping a cup? _

“Your Majesty?”

“You may go.”

Albert falls to his knees. “Your Majesty, please. I need this job. My family - I have two young ones at home. Without me working here, they can’t go to school, they can’t - ”

“Enough!” His voice rings through the dining hall, echoing off the far walls and high ceilings. And amplification spell, maybe? “I am feeling kind. Get out of my sight now, or I assure you, you and your family alike will regret it - ”

“Are you serious?”

A quiet gasp arises from the ladies at the table, yourself included, as a new voice enters the fray. Everyone, including Loki turns their head to the source of the outburst.

_ Oh. Me. _

“Lady (Y/N)?” Between his glare and that of Lady Amara, you’re surprised you haven’t dropped dead on the spot. “Would you care to contribute.”

“I...yes, I would.” You stand, but he’s still solidly taller than you.  _ Oh, well. _ “He didn’t fall deliberately. It was an accident. You’d really condemn him and his family to poverty for something so small?” Your heart is racing a mile a minute, but you can’t help but feel a sense of pride.  _ I barely stumbled! Woohoo! _

“Are you questioning my judgement?”

“I think that, in this case, your judgement is faulty, so yes, I guess I am. You’re basing this man’s future off of one misstep. A literal misstep. If you’re planning on ruling over an entire planet, you’re going to have to be a little more lenient than that.”

At this point, the whole table is staring at you in horror, and you’re beginning to think that this whole standing-up-for-what’s-right thing may not have been the best idea. But it’s too late to back down now. Loki remains silent for a moment, and you struggle not to break eye contact. After a few breathes, he looks away. “I think we are finished here. I will not be joining you ladies for lunch, but I will see you at supper. Enjoy your day.”

There are a few beats of uncomfortable silence before Lady Amara springs into action. “Right. Breakfast is over, ladies! Remember, we have our afternoon lesson directly after lunch, but beyond that, the day is yours.” 

You and the others all rise, and scramble for the door. Loki storms off in the opposite direction, leaving Albert on the floor by his chair. Lady Amara, thankfully, doesn’t call you out, but you imagine you’ll be thoroughly chewed out in the afternoon. For now, though...as the last of the contestants and servants trail out of the room, you approach Albert. “Hey.”

He backs away hastily, then moves back to the fallen teacup. “Lady (Y/N)!”

_ God, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hearing that. _ “Do you need help?”

“N-no, I - ” He lets out a hiss of pain, and you see blood on his hand.

“Oh, my God!” You crouch down and reach for his hand. “Let me see.” He obliges. You’re relieved to see that there are no shards of glass in the cut, which itself isn’t too deep. You unceremoniously tear of a strip of your petticoat, and wrap his hand in it. “I’m so sorry. He shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I promise, you and your family will be all right. The job here is yours to keep.” You don’t even know if that’s a promise you can keep, but you have to    try. Besides, there are so many servants here - Loki is bound to forget about this incident after a while. The blessing of anonymity.

“Thank you.” He’s quiet when he speaks. “You’re a nice girl. Remind me of my older one.”

“Yeah?” You smile, thankful that he hasn’t started crying or anything. You’d be at a bit of a loss as to what to do if that happened. “How old is she?”

“Nineteen. The younger one’s eight. You're her favorite - she wanted to come see you off, but I didn’t...I wanted her to stay home.”

“You’re from New York too, then?”

He nods again. “Queens.”

“Wow. Is it hard?” You have to ask. You need to know if it’s just you. “Being so far?”

“Pays better than anything I could have gotten back there.” 

“Right.” The conversation comes to a lull. “Well, Albert - please, don’t worry about this. You go take care of your hand, and I’ll - I’ll find someone to clean this up, safely. And tell your daughters I said hi.” You want to offer to meet them, but somehow you don’t find that likely, if he didn’t want his younger one even coming to the send-off.

“Thank you, Lady (Y/N).” He cracks a smile, and warmth spreads through you. “You’re a good kid.”

When he leaves, you’re left to clean up the mess all by yourself. 

It’s worth it.


	17. Chapter 17

You can’t deal with afternoon lessons today. It’s been nearly a week since the breakfast fiasco; you’ve tried to keep a low profile since then, with varying levels of success. Loki hasn’t spoken to you at all, hasn’t even eaten any meals in the dining hall since that day, but Lady Amara has been lecturing you every chance you get, and you can’t stand it. And now that the initial novelty of it all has worn off, now that you’re solidly enveloped in a daily routine of etiquette classes and Girl-World politics, you’re more homesick than ever. Never mind that skipping today will only get you in more trouble; you’re done. Really, truly done. 

Meg isn’t in your room. _I mean, she has other stuff to do. I can’t expect her to be at my beck and call 24/7._ _And I’m not even supposed to be here right now._ But it still saddens you. The other girls aren’t terrible, but they all seem to actually want to win the competition, and Meg is your only real friend who doesn’t have any stock in the crown. The other servants are too afraid to talk to you. You’d go looking for Albert - he was nice, at least - but you don’t have the first idea of where to find him.

As much as you want to avoid Lady Amara, you really,  _ really _ don’t want to spend the afternoon in your room doing nothing. 

_ I mean...I am falling behind on my real-world studies. _ Lady Amara has to have gotten all those history and government theory books from somewhere. A castle this big  _ has _ to have a library. You find a quiet serving girl who, after jumping when you address her, gives you directions in a tiny, squeaky voice. You tiptoe past the Ladies’ Parlor, where your absence has no doubt been noticed by now, and around the corner, and…

_ Wow. _

It’s  _ breathtaking. _ So many books, you don’t even know where to start. Just entering the cavernous room calms you; you pick a random volume up off a nearby desk and open it, relishing in the feel and smell. You can’t read a word of it, though. It’s written in some kind of symbol-language; runes, or something.  _ There have got to be English books in here somewhere… _

“Lady (Y/N)?”

You whirl around at the sound of your name, and find yourself no more than a few inches away from a very angry-looking Loki. 

_ Oh, gosh. _

Again, you haven’t interacted with him at all for days. And you had never exactly apologized for your defiance in defending Albert...

“Your Majesty! I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t realize you, um, came in.”  _ Please, please don’t vaporize me. _

“I could tell.” His face is completely deadpan, but you swear you can detect just the faintest hint of humor behind his words. 

You pretend not to notice. Just in case you’re wrong.

_ Quick, say something! _ “Any recommendations?”  _ Gah, not that! _

He lifts an eyebrow, perplexed. “What?”

“Books. I’m here for books - of course, it’s a library - and I didn’t know - I mean, like, I’m not familiar with what’s here. In the library. This library, I mean, all of the books from Asgard, I don’t - you know,” you finish lamely.

“Do I?”

“Maybe?” Your eyes dart around the room, before returning to his face. “I’m sorry, am I not allowed to be here, or something? I mean,” you interrupt yourself, wincing. “Argh. That came out wrong. I promise I’m not trying to be sassy or anything, I just - “

“Sassy?”

You rack your brain for an appropriate synonym. “Sarcastic. Dryly humorous. Backtalk.”

“I see.”

“So, um, if you don’t want me here, I’ll leave.” He doesn’t respond. “Okay.” 

“Wait.” He says it quietly, so much so that, for a moment, you're unsure of whether or not he actually spoke. Still, you turn back around. “What sort of books are you interested in?”

You shrug. “What have you got?”

“Everything.”

“All right.” You chew on your lip, considering. “What are your favorites?”

He appears surprised. “You want to - “

“Sure, why not?” Your eyes widen as you realize what you have just done. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted you.”

“No,you shouldn’t have.” You shrug, and he tilts his head ever so slightly to one side. “But you did.”

“Um.” You’re momentarily lost in his appearance. With his hair tucked behind his ears and his undereye circles erased by the soft, dusky glow of the candelabras, he looks different. Younger. No more sharp edges - save for his eyes, which are bright and piercing as ever, now scanning your face as intently as you were his mere seconds ago. 

He begins to walk towards you - just one step, but, tense as you are, you can’t help but start at the movement. He purses his lips, trying to refrain from laughing. “Lady (Y/N), after the way you reprimanded me at breakfast last week, I hardly think you’d be one to worry about speaking out of turn.”

You let out a short breath of air, trying to pull yourself together. “I was raised to be generally polite, Your Majesty. The only time I ignore that is when I feel someone is deserving of reprimand...ation.” Is that a word? You don’t think it’s a word.  _ Oh, well. _

He smirks - either at your bluntness or at the clunkiness of your speech, you’re not sure which. Probably the latter. “So I deserved it, then?”

“Yes.” You say it without thinking, nodding in earnest; as soon as you realize what just came out of your mouth, you feel your eyes widen, and the blood rise up in your cheeks. “I mean - ”

He holds up a hand. “I appreciate your candor.”

“Okay. Good.” You nod. Does this mean you’re off the hook?  _ That was...easier than I’d expected. _ You’re quick to change the subject, before he has a chance to change his mind. "So. Books.” A thought occurs. “Do you have anything on Norse mythology?”

* * *

 

He helps you bring the stack of books to a table in the back corner, hidden by all the shelves. You’re surprised by the lack of tension - just like that, you’ve been forgiven. It’s a little scary, how quickly his mind can change, but in this case, you’re grateful.

He actually sits, and helps you to translate the beginning of the book you’d picked up earlier. You can’t help but feel you’re learning much more useful information than you would have if you’d actually gone to your afternoon lesson. “So the language magic doesn’t apply to books, then?”

“Not all books. Not all languages, either.” He runs his fingers back and forth across the runes. “This particular one died long ago. On Asgard, it’s commonly used in treaties and contracts, but never out loud.”

“I’ve always wondered how that happens.”

“How what happens?”

You put your elbows up on the table, ignoring all sense of propriety as you lean your hand on your cheek. “How do people just...stop speaking a language? I’m assuming it’s not a conscious decision, because that would require everyone who speaks it to stop all at once, and have a second option available. Does it evolve until it’s unrecognizable? Because then the language is still alive, just in a different skin. It’s fascinating.” You realize he’s staring at you. “Did I say something wrong? I ramble sometimes, I know, when I’m nervous, or - ”

“I make you nervous?”

“Are you surprised?”

“No, but…” He cocks his head to the left. “You’re very open about your feelings, Lady (Y/N).”

“I - yeah. I don’t mean to be. Teenager-itis, I guess, huh?” He doesn’t laugh, and you quickly look down at your hands, which are now folded neatly in your lap. “This is a completely different world than what I’m used to. The palace. Good, but different. Everybody is much more reserved in terms of what they say.” You shrug. “I guess I’m just not used to having that kind of filter.”

“I understand.”

You look up. “You do?”

“Nobody is born with an innate understanding of politics, Lady (Y/N),” he chuckles. You relax a little. “Which is why Lady Amara saw it fit to schedule daily lessons for the candidates. Every afternoon.”

_ Oops. _ You suppose you should have expected him to call you out on it eventually. “Right. About that…”

“I’ll make your excuses to Lady Amara.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “You can...well, of course you  _ can _ , but you - ”

“I  _ will _ ,” he assures you. “Though I trust you’ll be present for all future sessions, beginning tomorrow?”

“Yes. Absolutely.” You don’t want to push your luck any further. You catch a glimpse of the clock on the other wall, and scramble to start getting the books in order. “Wow, it’s late. I should get ready for dinner, just in case…” He doesn’t respond, and you look back up to see him gone. Again. But, just as it was with the masquerade ball, he’s left you a note. 

**_Lady (Y/N),_ **

**_Leave the books on the table. The librarians will come to sort them out before they lock the doors; if you would like, I can have them sent up to your room._ **

**_My apologies for my abrupt departure. I must ready for dinner, and I suggest you do the same - I am sure, after missing Lady Amara’s afternoon lecture, you wouldn’t want to be late._ **

**_Until then,_ **

**_L.L._ **


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, after roughly half a year of palace life (and the occasional library chat with Loki), you decide to try your hand at corset lacing. It doesn't go well...  
> Or does it?

Tying your own corset might just be the dumbest idea you’ve had over the past six months.

You’ve gotten away with not wearing one for so long, you were almost convinced you were finished with it - until Lady Amara called you out on it last week. She had been surprisingly chill about the whole skipping-class-thing - Loki had been true to his word on getting you off scot-free - and you now had a twenty-something week long streak of unmissed lessons, but apparently even being on her good side wasn’t enough to escape steel-boned death. But you figured, hey - if you had to wear it, might as well learn how to put on the damn thing yourself.  

You tug just a little more, terrified of causing some sort of internal damage. Looking in the mirror, you're disappointed to see that your waist looks mostly the same, if a little neater. Still, you're not going to suffocate for appearance's sake, so you decide that's enough. You back up towards the bedpost, feeling behind you for the string. After pulling it, you take a few steps forward.

The strings don't loosen.

Another brush of your fingers against the thin, silky ropes is enough for you to realize that you must have pulled the wrong string, and are now tied to the bedpost by a nice, tight double knot. You try in vain to loosen it - a difficult enough task with your hands behind your back, now made impossible by your short, stubby nails. Straining forward against the laces only tightens them further.

"Hello?" You feel utterly ridiculous, yelling without response, but that's the price you pay for sending Meg away so close to dinnertime. "Hello! Help!"

Nobody answers. 

Closing your eyes, you begin to call for help at the top of your lungs. "Please! Somebody, I'm - "

"There's no need to yell."

Your eyes fly open, then shut again in embarrassment. Of course,  _ he'd _ be the one to hear you. "Hi, Your Majesty."

"Are you all right?"

"Um, just..." You motion to the bedpost, where the knot seems to have gotten worse. As he walks around to stand behind you, you suddenly realize how considerably little clothing you're wearing: a shift, ankle socks and (thankfully decent) underwear, breasts pushed up by the corset...although your physical proximity was much closer while you were dancing, your attire - or lack of - makes this encounter feel downright scandalous, especially by the standards set by Lady Amara and the rest of the staff.

"And how was... _ this _ accomplished?"

"Hm? Oh." You almost twist to look at him, but quickly think better of it - no need for him to notice the heat radiating from your cheeks. "I, um. Meg. My maid. I told her I didn't need help, which, looking back, probably wasn’t the best move..."

"I take it it’s not often that you lace your own corsets?" You don't answer, still blushing furiously, and he chuckles. "I thought not. You are adventurous, I'll grant you that."

"Yeah, I'm such a rebel," you quip. "Reading, tripping over flat surfaces, corset lacing...you've got a real wild child on your hands, Your Majesty."

"I'll be sure to keep an eye on you, then."

Now you look back at him. "I was - "

"Joking. I know." He pushes you gently forward, his hand against the small of your back, and your heart races for a moment before you realize he's just letting you know you're free. You do a little twirl, straining to see back over your shoulder. You reach back to tie the laces - you've tied bows on the backs of dresses before, so you know you can't screw this up - but they're at an awkward angle, and it seems one of laces has escaped the bottom grommet. In trying to loop it back into place, you end up doing a full 360, your socks providing you with no grips to keep from sliding, and suddenly you're - 

"Oh." 

If he weren't so tall, your arms would be wrapped around his neck. As it is, they're pressed between you two, your fingers curled against his chest. One of his hands is pressed flat against your back, fingers splayed; the other is wrapped around your waist, pulling you so close you feel his hips flush against yours. He's the first to pull away, and when he does, you find yourself wanting...something. 

Something  _ more _ .

You clear your throat. "Thank you." He says nothing, instead walking around to tie the damn thing himself. "You know," you say, desperate to end the tension, "I'm not usually this klutzy, most of the time. I promise." 

"Of course."

"I'm serious!" You hear your voice rising in pitch, and you can't keep the giggles from bubbling over. "I mean, I'm no - " You're cut short as he tugs sharply on the strings, causing you to stumble back against him. With his palm pressed flat between your shoulders, he directs you back to the bedpost. "Grab," he instructs.

You do so, confused. "I -  _ oh _ !" The word leaves your body in a whoosh of air, and again as he pulls the strings again. "I -  _ ah _ \- really don't -  _ wow _ \- It was fine before, don't you -  _ mmph _ \- think?"

"You sound panicked," he notes.

"I  _ am _ panicked."

You can practically hear him rolling his eyes as he responds, "There are many things in this palace for you to be afraid of, Lady (Y/N), but death by corset is not one of them. Not today."

When he finishes, he spins you back around, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection. Your waist is visibly smaller, but you can still breathe. Mostly. "Are you sure this is safe?"

"Perfectly. I’ll see you at dinner. Don’t be late." As he reaches the door, he turns back, one hand on the doorframe. "And please, next time, don't so quick to dismiss your maid. I have more than enough to worry about without having to rescue you from your undergarments."

Nodding dumbly, you watch him exit. 

_ Happy half-birthday to me. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies,
> 
> Happy March! I am so, SO sorry I have fallen behind on replying to comments - I'm a little swamped with schoolwork and such at the moment (most of the chapters I've been posting are pre-written, hence the time-skip and possible typos), but I promise I'll try to get on that ASAP. In the meantime, though, thank you guys so much for all the positive feedback on this story - every comment and kudo notification I get to my email absolutely lights up my day.
> 
> Although I am a bit busy at the moment, my schedule's supposed to clear up pretty soon - just in time for my birthday at the end of the month :) It's a big one (not going to give the exact number, but you can probably hazard a good guess if you tried) and I was thinking about maybe doing a fic giveaway! I have no idea if anyone would be into that kind of thing, but if you are, comment down below OR email me at doeeyeddarlingxo@gmail.com. If enough people are interested, I'll see if I can put together a collection of drabbles to be released sometime in April.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and I'll see you in the next chapter!
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> DoeEyedDarling


	19. Chapter 19

After all that, the bastard doesn’t even show up for dinner.

Lady Amara announces that His Majesty had some last minute executive business thrown at him; you’d press her for further details, but you’re treading on thin ice with her as it is, and she rushes off right after to help him, leaving the eight of you alone at a meal for the first time. You end up sitting next to Rosa, which makes you nervous at first, but… she’s being friendly tonight. Like, really, _really_ nice.

“And I just _love_ your dresses!” she gushes. “Your maid must be the most _amazing_ seamstress.”

“Thanks.” You take another sip of wine to hide your blush, and your smile. You aren’t really sure where this is coming from, but it’s a welcome change from the cold stares and passive-aggressive comments of the past few weeks. “Yours, too. I mean, all of the dresses - the whole palace is beautiful.”

“It really is. Don’t you think, Lady Irina?” She reaches across you to nudge the tall blonde, accidentally knocking one of your utensils on the ground in the process. “Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry! Excuse me.” She motions for a servant. “A new fork, please? For Lady (Y/N)?” You bend over to grab the fallen one, and when you sit back up, your glass is full again. She smiles. “So, you were telling me about your school back home? Any boys?”

“I, um...not really. No. You?”

Something shifts behind her eyes - you think - but it’s gone a few seconds later. “Once. But he...it was over before the lottery was announced.” She opens the conversation up to the rest of the table. “Ladies?”

Irina shrugs. “Competitions don’t leave much time to date.”

“My sister was with a guy when the names were announced. She pretended to be jealous for my sake, but…” Sapphire shrugs. “I know she was relieved. I can’t blame her; I know I would have been.”

It’s the saddest thing you’ve ever heard her say.

“We shouldn’t be talking about this,” Juliette mutters. “We could get in trouble.”

“Why?” Rosa responds. “It’s not like any of us is fooling around with anyone while we’re here. This is all in the past.”

“I...I don’t know.”

“Listen, can we just be honest a second?” You all turn to look at Li. “Who of us really, truly wanted to end up here?”

It’s a dangerous question. You take another gulp of wine; for the first time, you realize that your glass hasn’t emptied all evening, and the warm feeling in your stomach is more than just the afterglow of a good meal. But Rosa is gone; the conversation having lapsed into silence, most of the girls have begun to leave. You figure you’ll follow suit. When you stand up, you’re struck with a sudden dizziness, and you have to grab your chair for support.

It passes after a moment. You should be fine to make it back to your room. Right?

* * *

 

 _Ha ha, of course not_. The stairs are nearly impossible; you’d blame it on Rosa, but you really should have been watching how much you were drinking. You just hadn’t thought about it, at the time.

You stumble into yet another door, and murmur an apology. While none of the other doors responded, this one holds you back at arm's length and appraises your droopy eyelids and disheveled clothes. "Lady (Y/N)?"

"Hmph?" You see the door looking at you with a concerned look on its, um, face, a strand of black hair falling forward. "Oh. Your Majesty. You...you aren't a door."

"Did you just come from dinner?"

You nod. A thought comes to mind, and you shove your pointer finger against his chest. "You, sir, are very rude, telling me to not be late, and then you didn't show up. Like, wha' was that?"

He cups your chin in his hand and leans in closer, leaving you powerless to squirm away. "Are you drunk?"

"I just had a little wine, I promise...my glass was still full when I left. I mean, I drank, but nottalot..." you slur, swaying back and forth. He steadies you with a hand on either one of your arms. You try to pull away. "Leggo."

"I'm taking you back to your room." He bends down, and, before you have a chance to protest, quite literally sweeps you off your feet. "Norns, you're heavy," he mutters.

"I heard that."

"I have no wish to drop you, Lady (Y/N), but if you continue to struggle so, I'm afraid I'll have no choice."

"Shuddupahyourface."

He sighs, and even in your inebriated state you can just picture him rolling his eyes. "Clearly you've lost none of your...eloquence of speech."

"I still talk better than you, Psycho Alien Whatsyourface."

You feel him stop walking. "What did you call me?"

"Um..."

"Is that really what you think of me?"

"Um..." You hear a door creak open, and the light, sing-songy rhythm of Meg's footsteps.

"Milady!" She stops speaking rather abruptly - to cutsy, perhaps. "Your Majesty, I - thank you for bringing her - "

"What is your name again?" When she does not respond, he prompts her, "Something with an M?"

She recovers from her shock long enough to answer, "Margaret, Your Majesty. Most people call me Meg, I - "

"Meg. You are dismissed for tonight; I can take care of Lady (Y/N) from here."

"Y-Your Majesty?"

Your eyelids open briefly, and you see him smile down at her with patient amusement. "No harm will come to her, I assure you."

"Of course." She continues to stare. "I...I'll see you in the morning, then, Milady?"

"Mmph."

"Yes, please," Loki answers for you. Meg nods before leaving, shutting the door quietly behind her.

When he starts walking again, a new wave of nausea overtakes you. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and moan, curling into him.

"Hush, Lady (Y/N)."

Even after depositing you on the bed, he stays there, sitting down with two fingers to your wrist. Is he _seriously_ checking your vitals? You're drunk, not dead. You shift on the bed, grumbling, "I'm alive, genius."

"Excellent. Then we can carry on with our conversation. Recount to me that charming name you called me before; I believe it was something along the lines of 'Psycho Alien Whatsyourface?'"

You lift up your head just enough to see him, and your hands. "First off, that was, like, word for word. You're not from here, you're 'nalien. An' you killed a bunch a' people, so I guess you're at least a little psycho." You tick off one finger for each point you make, and push yourself up into a sitting position, legs crossed.

"I did not come to Midgard to cause destruction, silly girl, I - "

"Shh." You lean forward, shoving a finger against his mouth. The mix of indignance and total confusion coloring his face is so different from his normal, composed appearance that you can't help but let out a snort, followed by a hiccup. You bite your lip, tilting your head to look at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "You're cute when you're drunk."

He gently pushes your finger away to speak. "I'm am most assuredly _not_ inebriated, Lady (Y/N). You are."

"That's what I said..." You wave your hand in the air agitatedly. "And what's up with this 'Lady' stuff? I'm not, like, um, nobility, or any of that. I was barely passing WHAP back home."

"Whap?"

"AP World," you explain. He still seems confused. "Um, like, in school - where you go to learn stuff - "

"I know what a school is, La - "

"Good, so, like, AP stands for advanced placement. Like, college level classes. It doesn't really mean anything, but WHAP stands for World History Advanced Placement. It's, like, a really arbituary - "

"Arbitrary?"

" - yeah, that - it's, um, a really pointless thing, but calling it WHAP makes it, like, funnier. Like, 'Whap me in the face with a textbook, because this class is driving me nuts.'"

"Uh huh." He studies your face for a moment, before leaning back. "You mortals have some...interesting tendencies." He shakes his head, sliding his arms back beneath your relatively limp form in order to hoist you back up from the bed. "Lady (Y/N), if I leave you in the washroom, do you think you have enough presence of mind to bathe yourself?" You blink up at him drowsily. When you open your mouth, he appears hopeful, but his anticipation soon becomes disappointment when you only yawn. "Very well." He puts you to stand in the shower, and turns you around. You feel a slight tugging on your back as he loosens the laces on your dress. Once he has helped you out of the gown and corset, leaving you in your stockings and shift, he closes the curtain.

You blink once at the wall, thoroughly confused. "Huh?"

"Undress in there, and I'll draw you a bath. You can come out once I've closed the washroom door."

You nod in response, forgetting he can't see you. As you peel off the remaining layers of clothing, you hear a number of noises - his footsteps, the creak of the tap followed by the sound of running water - and the air fills with steam.

"I'm leaving now, Lady (Y/N)," he tells you. "Call me when you're completely immersed in the bath."

You wait for the sound of the door closing behind him, peeking out from behind the curtain before tiptoeing your way to the bathtub. Even after you sink into the water, the bubbles remain thick as before. "I'm in."

He re-enters, and goes to kneel behind you. You open your mouth to question him, but your words give way to a sigh as he begins to wash your hair, massaging your scalp with deft fingers.

"The oils should help with the headache and nausea," he explains. "As for your mental capabilities - " and here you imagine him smirking " - I imagine you'll be back to your charming self by tomorrow morning. Exactly how much did you drink?"

You shift your head, eyes still closed. "I...dunno."

"Very good, that's very helpful," he snaps. "Have you ever been drunk before?"

"Mm-mm."

"Is that a no?" He sounds impatient; his ministrations become rougher.

"Yes. I mean, no, I've never had wine or champagne or anything before, not really. I just would drink...and then the glass was full again, I don't - "

" - know," he finishes, scooping up water from the tub to better lather whatever soap he was rubbing through your hair. "Given the present circumstance, I strongly suggest you do everything in your power to avoid wine in the future."

"Thanks for the advice." You're not sure if you mean it sarcastically or not. You're not exactly in any condition to be witty. "Can I get out now?"

"The towels are behind you." And with that, he leaves.

"Thanks," you call out. "I'll try not to slip and die."

"Thank would be appreciated," you hear through the door.

Snorting, you rinse your hair. Funny, the water is just as warm as it was before, and not at all cloudy. _Magic, I guess. Figures._

You emerge from the bathroom wearing a clean white nightgown, a towel adorning your head. To your surprise, Loki hasn't yet left. "What you still doing here?" You plop down on the bed, eyes fluttering shut. You're practically asleep already; the only thing keeping you out of the Sand-Man's reach is Loki as he sits you up and pulls off the towel. This occurs without conversation. The silence is interrupted only by the slippery noise produced by your king and unexpected caretaker dragging a comb through your damp locks.

When he finishes, he lays you back down and, somehow, manages to snuff out the lights. "Good night, Lady (Y/N)." He walks towards the door.

"Wait." Somewhere in the back of your mind, it occurs to you that you're tired, and uncomfortable, and the room is dark, and, for some reason, you can't bear the thought of falling asleep alone. "Please don't leave me."

"Lady (Y/N) - "

"Please."

You expect him to leave. But as he gently shuts the door, instead of silence, you hear his footsteps.

He's coming back.

You flinch as the cold of his fingers brush against your knuckles, before sighing in relief

"Go to sleep, Lady (Y/N)."

You curl your hand around his, pulling it to your chest like a stuffed animal. You ignore the sudden intake of breath that occurs on his part; you're too drunk and too focused on nothing in particular. "Why is this palace so hot?"

"Lady (Y/N) - "

"I told you, it's just (Y/N)," you say, frowning in annoyance. "And you didn't answer the question."

"I have enchanted the castle and surrounding lands to mimic summer. It allows us to better take advantage of the lake, the woods, the stables - " You inhale deeply and snuggle into your pillow, pulling his hand up so that you can rub your cheek against it. He sighs, exasperated. "What are you doing?"

"Hot," you moan, the fabric of the pillowcase muffling your voice. It's true - the palace, in spite of all of its splendor, suffers from an unfortunate lack of modern Midgardian luxuries - namely, air conditioning - and his hand provides a nice contrast to your burning skin.

"Honestly," he mutters. Honestly _what_ , you don't find out, because he cuts the thought short to address you. "Move over."

"Hmmph?"

He tugs his hand from your grasp and walks around to the other side of the bed, ignoring your cry of protestation. "Stay."

"But you said to move - " You shut up as you feel the mattress shift, bending to accommodate this new presence. "Your Majes - "

"Shhh." He whispers it right up against your ear, and you nearly roll off the bed. His arms wrap around you in an instant, holding you in place. "I highly doubt you will remember this encounter come morning, but should the improbability of that happening become a reality, I would appreciate if you avoided mentioning this to the other women."

"Uhhh..." You're partly stunned, partly too tipsy to care, and partly...you're not quite sure what. "Translation, please?"

"This is a terrible idea."

"It is?"

"Yes, it is."

"Hm." You shift so that you're able to bury your face in his neck. It's a rather comfortable position, his soft skin lending a pleasant chill to your heated form, and his scent...you can't stop yourself from taking a long, deep breath to savor the smell. It's clean-laundry-esque, but...sharper. Spicier. Like cinnamon, or maybe peppermint. "Why?"

He chuckles, the low rumble of it echoing in your head in time to your pulse, just loud enough to win out over the blood rushing in your ears. "For starters, it is highly inappropriate - "

"Why?"

"I shouldn't even be allowed to see you in your nightclothes, let alone be here with you."

"Why?"

"It implies...certain things, regardless of how innocent the situation may be in actuality. If this were to be discovered, your reputation would be ruined."

You pause to consider this. "Why?"

He sighs. "Could you please just take my word for it?"

"Okay." There is a brief moment of silence. But you can't help asking another question. "Why else?"

"Why else what?"

"Is this a bad idea?"

"Hm." His mouth is pressed against the top of your head, his hum tickling you through your hair. "The way you're dressed."

"I'm wearing clothes," you protest sleepily. He laughs again.

"Not nearly enough," he murmurs, tightening his arms around you. You wind your own arms around his waist, and it is only now you notice that he suddenly isn't wearing a shirt, explaining how he is able to cool your entire body through the fabric of your nightgown. With your legs pulled up nearly to your chest, you can feel with your feet that he's at least still wearing pants, thank God...or gods...

"Then why are you still here?" He falls silent at that. Too silent for your liking. "Loki?"

You feel a slight pressure against your forehead. "Sleep, (Y/N)."

"But - "

He shushes you again, his breath causing your eyelids to flutter shut. And after what feels like an eternity of resting in his arms, you slip into a cool, velvet-edged sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings! 
> 
> I GOT INTO COLLEGE YAY now the final decision of where I'm going :) I'm visiting my top choice school this weekend, so fingers crossed (and finances allowing) everything will work out. If anyone has any advice on choosing a dream school over a (less prestigious but still very nice) school that offered to pay tuition, or any personal experiences from the college/scholarship search they'd like to share, please do! I'm looking for as much advice as I can get, because I've (obviously) never really had to do the whole university application and decision thing before...
> 
> The best part of this is (beyond AP season, which will be over mid-May), I'm free! No more finals! No more SAT/ACTs! No more application essays! Which means...more time to write! Thank you guys so so so much for all of the support and love you've given this story (and the birthday wishes :) ). I have to work on the next chapter, but with more free time, that should hopefully happen sooner rather than later.
> 
> As always, any comments, questions, concerns, etc - put 'em in the little box below, or send them to doeeyeddarlingxo@gmail.com. Love you all!
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> DoeEyedDarling


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS SO SHORT LOLOLOL. I'm so sorry, this really is more of a drabble than anything. Loki POV, though, which is a new one! (Next chapter - which WILL be longer - is coming soon, darlings, I promise)

He hadn’t planned on staying this long. 

It was ridiculous enough that he had stopped to help her. Seen her to her room, dismissed her maid,  _ washed _ her  _ hair _ -

And now. 

Well. 

Now he’s waking up in a bed that is not his own, and her nose is pressed up against his throat, and he can feel her breath on his collarbone. He would move, but she’s so close, and so warm - and besides, there’s something almost sweet about the way the air hums out when she exhales. It’s somewhere between a sigh and a snore.

He can feel her heartbeat.

Slowly, he detaches himself - not fully, just enough to put a few inches of bed between his skin and hers. A beam of moonlight crosses her face, casting a soft shadow off of her nose and the curve of her lip. Her eyes move beneath her eyelids. He wonders what she’s dreaming, if she’s dreaming.

Slowly, slowly, slowly sitting up. A moment of hesitation as he considers her hand, still clutching his. He manages to do it without waking her, but as soon as he’s succeeded, once he no longer has the feeling of her palm against his, he is surprised by how cold the air feels.

He clenches and unclenches his fist, once. And then he slides off the bed, forbidding himself from looking back as he makes his way across the room, taking care to lock the door behind him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chappie is mostly done, so expect that soon. :)
> 
> Thank you guys for all of the reviews, and the advice on college! I'm finally committed, so I'm looking forward to the next four years ;) Hopefully I'll get some good writing material along the way! Questions, comments, and concerns go down below, and I'll see you guys next update. Lots of love, and thank you for all the support!
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> DoeEyedDarling


	21. Chapter 21

When you finally wake up, your head doesn’t even feel like a head. More like a watermelon that someone drop-kicked off the Empire State Building.

“Hello?” You wince at the sound of your own voice. As you rub your temples, trying to get the blood flowing or whatever, you see someone step through the door. “Meg. Hi.”

“Good morning, Lady (Y/N).” You see her glance around the room nervously, as though she’s expecting someone to pop out from behind a corner. “I trust you slept well?”

“Hm? Yeah, yeah.”  _ What is she saying? _ You genuinely don’t remember much from last night - you vaguely recall dinner, and wandering back to your room, but that was it. How you got washed and changed and into bed is anyone’s guess. “You?”

“Er, yes.” She gives you a strange look. “Are you all right?”

“Headache," you mutter. "Bad, bad headache.”

Ten minutes later (though it feels like ten years), she’s helped you get dressed, finds you a seat at the breakfast table before anyone else is down, and has a servant bring you the most glorious-smelling cup of coffee you’ve ever seen. You’ve never liked your coffee black, but your mouth is so dry you’ll take anything at this point, and one sip minimizes the pounding in your ears by half.  _ Meg is some kind of miracle worker, that’s for sure. _

“Refill, Miss?”

“Yes, pl - Albert!” You dismiss the beating behind your eyes and leap up to hug him. “You’re still here!”

“Thanks to you.” He’s beaming as he pulls away to look at you. “And thanks to you, I’m taking a week’s leave tomorrow. Going home to see my girls.”

“What?”

“Well, y’know, His Majesty came up to me this morning. Gave me a raise and everything. Surreal, huh?” He cocks his head at the shock in your eyes. “I just figured you’d said something to him.”

Your head is spinning. You were beginning to figure out that Loki wasn’t as horrible as you’d built him up to be in your head last year, but this? This was nice beyond your wildest imaginings. “I didn’t. But hey, that’s awesome!”

“Right? I’m actually finishing setting up for breakfast, and then my shift is over, but you looked like you needed a pick-me-up. Oh, and he gave me this to give you.” He pulls an envelope out of his pocket. “Listen, Miss (Y/N), I don’t know what your interactions with him have been like, but...stay safe, all right? I know this was nice and all, but…”

“I know.” He reminds you so, so much of your dad. “Go spend some time with your kids.”

* * *

 

Breakfast comes and goes. Girls drift in and out, followed by camera people - the latter ignoring you, as always - and you leave with a couple of hours before afternoon lessons. You stroll down the hallway, hoping to squeeze in a quick letter to your parents and Erik/Carlie, when you see a crumpled mass of dark fabric at the other end.

You hike up your skirts and run to her, your heart dropping as you see the pool of red around her. “Lexi?” 

She’s breathing, but only barely, and her pulse is faint. You gather a handful of your skirt and press the stiff fabric into her abdomen in an attempt to stop the blood, but the wound is so wide - she hasn’t just been stabbed, she’s been  _ gutted. _

“Help,” you whisper. You repeat the word until your voice has risen to a panicked scream. “Help!”

“(Y/N)?”

“Loki! Loki, you have to do something!”

He crouches opposite you. His hands flutter above the wound as he tastes the air with his magic. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, she just - she - ” You’re babbling in a panic, and your voice is rising in pitch, until Loki puts one hand on your arm, presumably to silence you, though it feels oddly...intimate. Like he’s a friend, instead of...whatever he is.

“They’re here.”

“What?” You peer over his shoulder at Lexi - she hasn’t stopped breathing yet, thank God. 

“Come, quickly.” With one hand around your shoulder, pulling you closer, and one hand still doing the healing thing to Lexi, he closes his eyes a moment and you find yourself surrounded by a strange green mist for a moment. When it clears, you’re still on the floor, but you’re in a different location - the floor is smooth linoleum, and the walls are lined with white beds. 

Loki stands up, pulling you with him, and you follow as he carries Lexi to the nearest bed. A woman in a white shirt and pants hurries over, examining the damage. “Your Majesty!”

He holds up a hand to stop her bowing. “Security has been breached. Lock all infirmary doors, and keep Lady (Y/N) here with you.”

The doctor, examining the wound in Lexi’s side - which is smaller, thanks to Loki’s healing magic - and nods. But as Loki pulls away from you, you realize he’s about to leave without you to face whatever threat is out there. You aren’t exactly sure why you care, but - “Wait!” 

You grab his wrist in protest, and in surprise, his hand wraps around yours just as he transports, pulling both of you out of the infirmary in a cloud of green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask and you shall receive :) I didn't want to leave you guys hanging after such a short-short chapter. Thank you so, so much for the continued support for this story! It means so much that something that makes me happy is making other people happy as well.
> 
> As always, I'll see you in the next update! Lots of love :)
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> DoeEyedDarling


	22. Chapter 22

“Do you have a death wish?” he hisses as soon as you land back in the hallway, pulling you into a little enclave carved into the wall, no bigger than a broom closet. Your dress barely fits. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m not letting you face whatever attacked her alone!” 

He sighs. “This is not a time for any of your silly Midgardian sentiment, girl, this is - ”

“Girl? I have a name. And this isn’t sentiment, this is me being a decent human being, because  _ you don’t deserve to die _ .” He takes a step back - as far as the wall allows, anyways - and his eyes soften.  _ Does he really think I think that little of him? _ Although, considering he did try to enslave your entire species…  _ Ok, we don’t have time for this. _ “So, like, just tell me what we’re up against, yeah?”

He pauses a moment, considering whether or not he should. “Chitauri.”

“Chi what now?”

“Aliens. They...helped me when I tried to conquer Midgard.”

You bite back a bitter remark. “Aren’t you guys  _ friends, _ then?”

“I was looking for a kingdom. They were looking for a snack. Consequently, I banished them to a far end of the universe.”

“Okay, see, what I don’t understand is _how the hell they were able to get in here_ _. _ ”

He runs an agitated hand through his hair. “They’re shapeshifters, but there are protective charms surrounding the palace. It shouldn’t be possible, but the shape and form of Lady Alexandra’s wound are unmistakable.”

“What about the other girls? And the staff?”

“Look.” He points out into the hallway, and you see the air is tinged red. Lady Amara had taught you the security protocol before your first lesson, and you recognize the warning. “Chitauri have incredible powers of hearing, but they’re completely color blind. The rest of the palace residents will see the signal and know to take cover.”

“Right.” You nod. “So...what’s our plan of attack?”

“The infirmary will already have put up barriers, so I can’t send you back there.” He sounds reluctant, not to mention frustrated. But you know that  _ he _ knows that he’s going to have to trust you if his plan is going to work. One of him against an army of shapeshifting monsters? He wouldn’t stand a chance. “I - ”

“ _ We. _ ” He glares at you, and you cock your head innocently. “Go on.”

“ _ We _ are going to wait here. They’re bound to come back to where they left Lady Alexandra, to...dispose of her.” You wrinkle your nose, reading between the lines.  _ If I hadn’t found her… _ “Then I will attack, and you will run to safety.”

“Like hell I will.”

“Yes, you  _ will. _ ”

“Don’t you think I’ll be safer here with you than wandering the palace on my own?” you point out. “I can barely make it from the dining hall to my room without getting lost.” He purses his lips, and you know you’ve got him there. Against your better judgement, you grab his hand. It’s cool, and soft, and feels oddly familiar.  “Let me help you.”

* * *

 

Even after last night’s candor, he would never have expected  _ this. _ Any rational girl - any rational human, rather - would have broken down in a panic by now at the very thought of the Chitauri. Any rational girl wouldn’t have left the infirmary with him to begin with.

Clearly, (Y/N) is no rational girl.

But what she lacks in self-preservation, she apparently more than makes up for in fearlessness - he vaguely remembers an advisor warning him about the impulsivity of Midgardian teenagers, back before the competition was announced - and while that will make it a little more difficult for him to keep her alive, it is also...admirable. And useful. And comforting. In the farthest back corner of his brain, he is a little relieved that he isn’t alone. 

He and the Chitauri hadn’t exactly left off on good terms.

She’s holding his hand almost the exact same way she did the night before. She’s made no mention of last night, so he’s assuming she either doesn’t remember or doesn’t want to bring it up. He’s perfectly content to go along with the latter. She looks so determined, her juvenile features tense and focused, and it almost makes him smile.

It makes him want to trust her.

* * *

 

“If we go through with this,” he begins, and you have to try to keep from grinning, “you have to do as I say. These creatures are incredibly dangerous, and the last thing I need is for you to be injured, as well.”

“Roger that. But, um, before we start...d’you think you could maybe make it a little easier for me to move around?” He stares at you blankly, and you gesture to your skirt. “I’m wearing a shift and stuff underneath, but if you could zap away the hoop skirt and dress and stuff, that’d be really, really helpful.”

He looks thoroughly scandalized. “I hardly think it’s appropriate for a lady to run around the palace in her underthings.”

You roll your eyes. “See, at the moment, my options are run around in my underthings and live, or try to lug around twenty pounds of steel-boned death trap and die.” 

After a moment, he acquiesces, snapping his fingers. You immediately feel lighter without the mountain of fabric weighing you down, but you notice he left the corset. You clear your throat expectantly.

_ This _ he protests at. “If I remove that, you’ll barely be clothed at all!”

“Yeah, and if you  _ don’t _ remove it, I’ll barely be able to breathe. Trust me on that.” He’s reluctant, but obeys. You relish in the sudden freedom, taking a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“Don’t,” he mutters, agitated. 

You giggle at his discomfort - honestly, you’re more than covered up in what you’re wearing, shoulders and kneecaps and all - before remembering the seriousness of the situation at hand. “So, what - ”

Suddenly, he claps a hand over your mouth, and you respond with silence. He removes his hand, but presses a finger to his lips. “Listen.”

You hear the sound of hissing and clanging down the hallway. He snaps, but nothing changes as far as you can see. You look up at him for some cue as to how you should proceed. 

“When I signal, you are going to run across the hall and to the left, in the direction of the dining halls. I can distract them, and render you invisible until you turn the corner. I’ll try to lead them somewhere we can at the very least trap them in. Keep your eyes and ears open at all times, understand?” You nod mutely. “Good. Now!”

He give you a slight push, and you stumble out into the hallway. You half expect the two monsters to look at you, but they’re more preoccupied with a figure at the other end of the hallway, a figure in a puffy green dress who seems completely unaware of their presence. You can’t see which contestant it is they are about to attack, but you know you have to help her. Instead of running around the corner, you take off towards them, your stocking feet making no sound on the carpet.

Just as you're about to call out to distract them, you catch a glimpse of the girl’s hair...and her dress...and then her face. 

_ Me? _

At that moment, Loki grabs your arm and pulls you back. Just as the monsters turn to look back, you round the corner. He reprimands you as you keep running. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you  _ wanted _ to be killed...”

“What was that? It was me, but not - how?”

“An illusion,” he snaps. “Faster, run faster!” 

He releases your arm as you round another corner, heading in the direction of the kitchen. It’s one of the hardest parts of the castle to reach, and the only way to it is by way of the dining room. There’s no way for the Chitauri to have found it without being noticed. Behind you, you hear inhuman cries. You glance back, and, to your relief, see Loki sprinting after you, no Chitauri on his trail.

“Two down?” you call back. He nods, catching up with you. The two of you stop running, and he waves his hand, causing a green flash of light. “What’s that?”

“Invisibility charm. I should be able to hold it indefinitely as long as you’re in range.”

“Nice.” You take a moment to catch your breath. “So...you killed them, then?”

“Yes. And I...retrieved information.” You notice a smear of dark maroon under his jaw, and on the back of his other hand. Blood.  _ Oh. _ “There aren’t many of them. They are still weak - this is a mercenary attempt, an independent group of rebels.”

“How many is not many?”

“Four, including the two we saw.” He sounds doubtful. “Unless they were lying.”

“And if they are?”

“If they are, they aren’t off by much. They wouldn’t be able to sneak in many more than ten.”

You laugh weakly. “Oh, good.” You brush back some loose pieces of hair out of your face. “You know, I don’t know why you were so concerned about me before. You wouldn't be at much of a loss without me - I’m not exactly the most competent contestant here.”

He shrugs. “Yes, well, we have to appeal to the teenage demographic  _ somehow _ .” You're almost offended, until you notice the corners of his mouth quirking up in a barely-repressed smile.

_Was that...a joke?_  

He grins fully, and actually laughs, and you find yourself joining in at the ridiculousness of it all. As you chuckle, you hear someone cry out from the direction of the kitchen. It’s a familiar voice, and your heart sinks. 

_ Meg. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings! Tbh, I was going to wait a little longer to post this chapter...but you guys asked, and I happened to be a couple of chapters ahead of my writing schedule, so here you go! :) As always, thank you guys so much for all the love and support - it really is greatly appreciated. 
> 
> (Also I'm sorry I don't know much about Chitauri this is 100% made up out of thin air after spending literally .2 seconds on the MCU Wiki page. Forgive me, dear readers, if there are any inaccuracies)
> 
> Don't forget to comment, and I'll see you in the next update! 
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> DoeEyedDarling


	23. Chapter 23

You take off sprinting before he has a chance to stop you.

The air grows warmer the closer you get. The kitchen is filled with smoke - no, steam - making it almost impossible to see. You follow the sound of Meg’s screams, and the hissing-growling noise, and the clanging of pots hitting the floor. _Nope, that last bit was me._ Oops.

You stop moving altogether when you realize the voices have fallen silent.

Suddenly, you recall what Loki said earlier - _“Chitauri have incredible powers of hearing…”_ _Greeeeaaaat_. You walk more gingerly, swallowing back a gasp of pain when you step on a piece of shattered plate. Gripping the nearest countertop - from what you remember, the kitchen is massive, with rows and rows of island-style counters, and sinks, stoves, and  lining the walls. your hand grips the handle of some utensil - a knife, you assume. You hold it out in front of you as you tiptoe around the island.

_I'm coming, Meg._

Another scream rings out. You keep pressing forward, ignoring the pain in your foot, and the next step you take reveals the floor to be covered into a thin layer of water. _The sinks must be on_. Now each step is accompanied by a slight squishing sound. You slow down to compensate.

The steam grows thicker, but through the fog, you see a dark figure, enclosed in some kind of scaly armor and definitely taller than you. You bend to the floor and begin to crawl, ending up in the same aisle, a few yards behind it.

A short distance away, Meg is on the ground. Down here, the steam is less thick, and from what you can see, there is a smear of blood on her face - _please don’t let that be a cut -_ and her foot is bend at a horribly unnatural angle, and you are going to make this bastard regret the day he was born.

“Hey!”

Meg’s eyes widen as she sees you, standing and brandishing what you had originally thought was a knife, but can now see is actually a fork. Your heart sinks. The Chitauri snarls. He hisses something that you don't underst - actually, it sounds a lot like English.

_“Silly human girl. Have you come to join your friend?”_

Apparently the language spell extends to other species, as well. _Good to know._ But rather than engage in not-so-witty banter, you begin to realize that he has very few, if any, weak spots in his armor/skin/whatever, and his claws are really, really long, and when he smiles and starts to lumber towards you, all you can think is _my, what sharp teeth you have._

You are truly, royally screwed.

* * *

 

Your first line of defense: speak? “I - let’s talk about this," you blurt out. "Do you really want to be eating all that raw meat? Salmonella, and all that?” His teeth and claws are just as menacing as before, but he at least has the decency to look confused, and you keep at it, taking minuscule steps backwards and trying to pretend that the hand with the fork in it isn't shaking. “And besides, why eat people when you can have pancakes? We’re in a _kitchen_. Hell, the pantry is right around the corner, if you’re looking for a quick snack.”

You don’t want to die like this.

There is so much waiting for you at home. Mom and Dad. Erik and Carlie. Even Annabel Wilkes, and every other person in that goddamned school who ever gave you hell. Chocolate. Clean laundry. The little pizzeria around the corner you and your friends would go to after every final exam. So, so many little things you were banking on getting back when you finally got out of this castle.

And new things, too. You want to finish school. You want to go to college, and live and learn, and - and meet people. New people, old people, travelling all over the world; there is so much you want to stay and see and do. So many more mornings you want to live to see. You didn’t even make it to _seventeen._

You could run.

But you can’t leave Meg.

So you keep babbling. But you’re running out of things to say, and space to back up into. The creature smiles again, and you do the only thing you can do.

You charge directly at him.

He seems surprised, but adjusts quickly. You duck under the claws he swings at you, grabbing onto his arm for balance and stabbing the fork into a chink in the armor where his neck meets his shoulder. He roars in pain, and you immediately run past, yanking the fork back out.

You run - well, slide - to Meg. “Come on!” Her foot is twisted something bad, and it’s all you can do help her stand. “Can you try to move?”

The Chitauri is coming back towards you - only now, he’s angry. In his haste, he slips on the slick floor and falls, buying you a precious few seconds of extra time. You grab a silver rolling cart and jam it into the space between you and Meg, cutting her off from the fight.

“(Y/N)!”

His voice sends a wave of relief crashing over you. “Loki!” You don’t look back, eyes fixed on the creature that’s now struggling to stand. “Take Meg somewhere safe!”

“Lady (Y/N) - ”

“Meg, go with him.” You hear her start to protest once again, and you raise your voice, your tone steelier than before. “That’s an _order_.”

The flash of green light highlights your shadow on the floor for just a moment, and you sigh, relieved that they’re safe. You, on the other hand, are still very much _here,_ with an angry, people-hungry alien charging at you. His anger jumbles his words as he continues to hiss, but you make out some obscenities, and you get the general jist of what he’s saying:

 _“You will pay for this_.”

With Meg gone, you can stop worrying about her survival and focus on yours. You squeeze down through the space between the shelves of the silver cart, coming out on the other side, and look frantically for anything else you can use as a weapon, anything you can use to trap him.

As you do, though, you hear another, lower-pitched hiss from behind you.

The new Chitauri come down the other side of the aisle, mirroring the first, and their ugly faces break out into twin sneers. You scramble for an escape, but the island-counter is too high and the floor is too slippery and the steam is too thick and you fall, hitting your head and scraping your arm - badly - on your way down. When you open your eyes again, you're all two aware of the fact that the splashing sound on either side of you of claw stepping through water is growing closer.

You’ve been cornered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)))))  
> Sorry for another cliffhanger, but I'm hoping that the more frequent updates will compensate ;) One sixteen-year-old-girl vs two Chitauri...yikes...
> 
> I HAVE NINE DAYS OF HIGH SCHOOL LEFT LOL WHAT. Growing up is so weird. Becoming an adult is so, so weird. But I increasingly find myself turning to this story, and to all of you, lovely readers, as an outlet to decompress and enjoy life and all that. Thank you guys so much for making this a space for me to have fun and get creative. It means more than I can possibly express.
> 
> Any and all questions, comments and concerns can be sent to me below. :) Stay tuned for another chapter coming soon! 
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> DoeEyedDarling


	24. Chapter 24

You struggle to pull yourself up, ignoring the stinging of your forearm.  _ Later problem. Later problem. _ But you feel so dizzy, and you’re losing strength fast. The two Chitauri reach you at roughly the same time - one in front of you, one on the other side of the cart, and your heart threatens to beat out of your chest. You aren't sure if your clouded vision is because of your head injury or the steam.

You make out the one in front of you take one last step in your direction, and a few things happen in very rapid succession:

  1. You launch yourself backwards as hard as you can, throwing the full weight of your body into the cart and managing to finally dislodge it.
  2. The cart rolls towards Ugly Number One. Thanks to his height, it catches his legs, causing him to fall directly onto the claws of his friend.
  3. While this occurs, your fingers wrap around the handle of the fallen fish fork, and you grab Ugly Number Two’s arm, pull yourself up, and stab, lodging it directly between his eyes. 



_ Huh. Guess that’s another soft spot I didn't know about. _

Their voices climb from guttural hiss to high-pitched wail. You drag yourself away as fast as you can, trying to get out of the way as they collapse, and look back to see them lie there, unmoving.

Green spots dance before your eyes, and you close them.  _ I must be hallucinating.  _ You’d hit you head pretty hard. The scrape on your arm isn't too deep, but the wound in your foot from earlier is staining the surrounding water red. 

Something like remorse wells up inside you. Yes, you didn’t want to die, but you wish you could have stopped them without killing them.

“Lady (Y/N)!”

Your eyes fly open. 

“(Y/N)!” His fingers, cool against your forehead, revive you; the blurriness vanishes, and you assume he somehow voodoo’d the concussion away. You see the worry etched into his face, green eyes even sharper and more focused than usual. “Are you alright?”

“They’re dead.”

“I am aware. Can you stand?”

“My foot - ah!” You grab onto him for support. He snaps his fingers, and suddenly the pain subsides. You lift your foot up and wiggle it experimentally, and see that the gash is gone. “How did you do that?”

“Small wounds are easier to heal.” He lets go of you, and you him, but one hand hover protectively behind your back. “Careful.”

“Thank you.” 

You watch as he approaches the dead bodies with care, examining the utensil sticking out of Ugly Number Two’s head. “I see you got...creative.”

“Well, I wasn’t going down without a fight. After all,” you say, the unlikely beginnings of a laugh bubbling up in your throat, “can’t afford to lose the teenage demographic, right?”

He tries to give you a deadpan look, but after a moment, the serious facade falls and he joins you, giggling as though you weren’t standing in a flooded kitchen with two alien assassins lying dead a few meters away.

* * *

 

The camerapeople don’t come for a few weeks.

It’s a relief. Even though they don’t talk to you much, there’s still always the constant sensation of being watched; you and everyone around you so on-edge, so conscious of your appearance and of who and what is being filmed. Now, with the cameras not around, everyone can breathe a little easier.  _ Good Evening, America _ still has its weekly segments, though; they must be using extra footage from weeks prior, you guess. They don’t mention the attack.

Lady Amara doesn’t let you all out of lessons entirely, but she does reduce them to once every other day.  _ Yes! _ You and the other girls take advantage of the free time: visiting Lexi (who is on track to making a full recovery), exploring the library, wandering the grounds. It’s a happy time, a time for freedom.

* * *

 

**Dear (Y/N),**

**I’m so happy to hear you’re making friends with the other girls! I was so worried they’d be catty or backstabbing. Make sure you keep up with your “real world” academics, all right, love?**

**Looking forward to your next email,**

**Mom <3**

* * *

 

**Hey Kiddo,**

**College is the same old, same old. Thanks for asking, though.**

**Anything exciting going on up there? Your letters are always so generic, you make it sound so boring, but there’s** **_gotta_ ** **be something interesting about the whole thing, right?**

**Anyway, write back soon. Or don’t.**

**\- Erik**

* * *

 

You smile, tucking your legs up underneath you in the ridiculously comfy chair you’re currently occupying in the Ladies’ Parlor. Every email you receive from your family makes you feel a little less far away from home. You move to press the RESPOND button on Mom’s email, when you hear a commotion rise beyond the door.

A little commotion, not a big one. But still.

You place the tablet on the small table next to you and rise, the chatter growing louder the closer you get to the door. You push it open, peaking your head out. “What’s going on?”

“Lexi’s better!” Sapphire chirps, at the same time Juliette responds, “Lexi is leaving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I didn't leave you guys hanging too long. :) Honestly, there are so many things I should be doing now instead of posting this chapter...like cleaning my room...or starting that 10-page research paper I have due tomorrow...but hey, those are later problems. XD 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys are having a lovely day! The weather is so nice here, I might end up taking my laptop outside to write for a bit. Any suggestions, comments, questions, etc, can go in the little box below. I'll respond to last chapter's comments ASAP. :) See you in the next chapter, darlings!
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> DoeEyedDarling


	25. Chapter 25

You run without knowing exactly where it is you’re looking to go...until you stop in front of the grand double doors and realize your legs knew where they were taking you all along.

_ Is this allowed? Scratch that, do I even care if this is allowed? _

The answer to that, you decide, is no, not really. You knock on the door forcefully, and when you receive no answer, you repeat the action.  _ This is it. This is how I get home. _

He still isn’t answering the door. “Loki?” You hike up your skirts a bit and kick the door in frustration. “Lo - ”

“I don’t know exactly what it is you’re looking for, but I highly doubt it warrants destruction of palace property.”

You flinch, but ignore the mild reprimand and whirl around to face him. “Can I go home?”

“What?”

“Lexi was nearly recovered, but she just left; therefore, she must have asked you to go home; therefore, it stands to reason that I should be able to do the same.”

“No.”

“Wha - but why?”

His expression remains stoic. “Lady Alexandra suffered a traumatic injury, after which she decided that she was ill-suited for life as a monarch. I felt inclined to agree.”

“Okay…” You cross your arms. “I suffered a traumatic experience, after which I have decided that I'm not cut out for this whole queen thing. Please let me go home.”

“I'm afraid I cannot do that.”

“Why the hell not?”

“You have proved yourself to be an asset to the palace community.”

“A few weeks ago, you told me I was only here as bait for the millions of stupid teens who wanted to be here!” you snap. “So forgive me, please, for being the slightest bit  _ confused _ right now!”

That gets under his skin. “W-what do you want me to say?” he stammers. “That, what, I need you?”

“I don’t want you to need me, I just want you to tell me the truth! What is so hard about that?”

“I need you here.”

“I said I wanted the truth, not - "

“ _I_ _need_ _you_ _here_.”

You stop mid-breath to stare at him. You've never seen him this agitated. His forehead is glistening with sweat, a soft crease between his brows; his lips are chapped, and you notice him clenching and unclenching his fist. Only his hair is untouched, immaculate as always, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s somehow magicked it to stay that way.

_ No. Stop that, _ you think. You’ll have plenty of time later to contemplate the exact circumstances of Loki’s freaking  _ hair _ . You have more important things to worry about; namely, what the hell just came out of his mouth.

“You’re just saying that.”

He shrugs, almost apologetically. “I’m not.”

You want so badly to believe him, but… “You’re the god -  the patron of lies. What reason do I have to think you’ve just  _ now _ decided to start telling me the truth?”

“Considering I recently watched you defeat a pair of shapeshifting monsters armed with nothing but a salad fork - ”

“Fish fork,” you correct.  _ Wait, what? Where did that come from? _ Based on the look on his face, you’d say he’s wondering the same thing. “Um, sorry. Habit.”

He rolls his eyes. “Armed with nothing but a  _ fish _ fork, do you really think I would go out of my way to incur your wrath?”

“My ‘wrath?’ That was self-defense!”

He sighs. “It was a compliment.”

“All right, all right," you say, shaking your head. "I'm sorry, I'm just...kinda on edge."

"I noticed."

“You still have the others. Six of them. Why can’t I leave?”

He sighs. “Lady (Y/N)...” You glare at him, and he backpedals. “(Y/N), if it weren’t for your actions a few weeks ago, Lady Alexandra, Margaret, and several others, including myself, would likely be dead today. I have no reason to send you away. And,” he continues, raising an eyebrow, “I am confident you will not do anything to give me reason to send you away.”

You grumble some form of agreement - you hadn’t  _ actually _ been planning to do anything to sabotage yourself, but still, the thought was tempting.

“Good.” He nods, and walks past you, towards the doors, then sighs, and turns back to face you. “Please understand that I do not wish to keep you here against your will. It is an unfortunate necessity of the Choosing process; I cannot send away without probable cause.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You wave him off. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

He nods curtly, and shuts the door behind him. You’re left feeling alone, frustrated, and...just the tiniest bit relieved? 

_ Maybe I don’t want to leave right this second, after all. _


	26. Chapter 26

“ _ Welcome back to Good Evening, America! Tonight’s recap of the Chosen contestants’ week in the palace comes with some shocking news: after nearly a year of competing, the pool of contestants has finally begun to shrink.” _

_ Ricky nods. “It would seem that Lady Alexandra Ritaccio has left the palace and returned to her home in Croatia. When approached with questions, the other Chosen refrained from disclosing details about potential reasons why, and palace representatives offered no comment. However, we did receive the following statement from Lady Ritaccio and her family:” _

The words appear on the screen as he reads. 

_ “While Lady Ritaccio enjoyed her time in the competition, after a recent bout of illness, she and His Majesty came to a mutual agreement that, of the eight contestants, her health would make it difficult for her to properly fulfill the duties expected of the Queen of Midgard. We the Ritaccios are grateful for His Majesty’s generous treatment of our daughter, and for his continued support during her recovery. We ask that the media respect our right to privacy now that Alexandra’s participation in The Choosing is at an end.” _

The Ladies’ Parlor has a somber feel to it tonight. Whatever competitive feelings may or may not exist between certain contestants, there is a certain bond that has developed over the past nine (or so) months. Lexi was a friend, and though you are all glad to know she is out of danger, her loss cuts deep into the marrow of the group.

_ “Now that we’re down a contestant, let’s check in on our palace footage from this week with the remaining women.” _

Eight have become seven, just like that. And now that the news is officially public, you can feel the question that is no doubt pressing on everyone else’s minds: what does this mean for the rest of you?

_ “This is Ashley Marino and Richard Morgenstern, signing off.”  _

The shift in the air is nearly palpable. Subtle changes in tone as good-nights are exchanged, chilly smiles exchanged as the seven -  _ seven _ \- of you go off to sleep. Now that Lexi’s gone, now that you’ve lost a member of the group, there’s no going back.

The real competition has begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOD THIS IS SO SHORT I'M SO SORRY I just really wanted to post an update before I head off for college tomorrow! The good news is that the next chapter (which was going to be this chapter but got pushed back when I decided I wanted to flesh it out a bit more) is almost where I want it to be. So consider this a teaser trailer type thing for the main chapter, which will be posted in the next week or so.  
> I tried to answer the backlog of comments I've let accumulate recently - I'm aiming to be more prompt about that in the future, cross my heart. Because I waited so long, my account was acting funny and I was responding to comments from chapters ago, so I apologize if I commented to you twice or anything like that. Consider it me sending you twice the love :) Thank you guys so so much for your eternal patience and love and support <3  
> Keep the comments coming, either here or to my email, and I will see you in the next chapter! 
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> DoeEyedDarling


	27. Chapter 27

For the first time in over a year, you feel a chill in the air.

Surprisingly enough, this isn’t because of any tensions or animosity between contestants (though heaven knows there’s been enough of that - nothing extreme, just small, petty squabbles), but as...a present.

You think.

It started with a scarf. Seven scarves, technically. You woke up one morning to find Meg bringing you a gift box, long and slim and delicately wrapped in gold foil, tied with a length of green ribbon.

_Huh?_

“From the king, Lady - I mean (Y/N).” She smiled shyly, and you felt a quiet joy bubble up at the correction. She’s been trying to use your name, sans title, ever since you “rescued” her (her words, not yours) from the Chitauri, and it seems to give her a small bit of confidence. (In public, she continues to call you by the title, which you interpret as her not wanting to be reprimanded - a sentiment she later confirms when you ask her in private. You can’t disagree with that.)

You accepted the gift, and tugged on one end of the bow. Under the box, beneath a layer of (yes, green) tissue paper, was a (yes, green) scarf.

_**I would be honored if you would wear this to breakfast this morning.** _   
_**~ L. L.** _

You didn’t really think much of it. It was thin and silky, nothing too heavy for this weather. Coming down to the dining room, you saw the other six girls each had one as well, tied around their neck, or used to pull back their hair, or knotted to the waist of their dress, each one with a slightly different pattern and in a different shade of green.

It wasn’t until Li let out a tiny gasp that the rest of you began to suspect something bigger was going on.

“Wha’s wron?” asked Irina through a mouthful of omelet, ignoring a glare from Lady Amara.  
Li handed her the envelope in response, seemingly too stunned to speak. Irina began to read it out loud.

“I am writing to request your company for a walk of the grounds tomorrow at noon.” She passes the letter back, looking mildly impressed. “A date, huh?”

And Li wasn’t the last. As the day went on, the remainder of the girls received similar invitations, at lunch or directly after lessons or slipped under their bedroom doors.

Except you.

You totally weren’t surprised. Or offended. Or upset by this in any way, shape, or form.

Except...you kinda were? Like, you get it, you’re still just shy of seventeen - but to be the _only_ one sucked. A lot. Especially after...well, after everything. The ball. The tutoring. The Chitauri. Even if he didn’t want to go on a date with you, persay, you thought he would have been considerate enough to explain why, or at the very least warn you before the invitations came.

Which leaves you here, sitting and pouting on your bed instead of going to sleep. Li’s date was over a month ago - she came down the next morning with shockingly reddened lips. She explained, with a shy kind of glee, that the lipstick was a gift from His Majesty, after she’d told him a story about breaking into her mother’s makeup box as a teen.

The next week was Irina’s meeting. Despite her clear reluctance beforehand, she too came down to the dining hall with more than a little excitement the next day, wearing a riding coat and (much to Lady Amara’s chagrin) pants, of all things.

“I mentioned that I was starting to get tired of riding side-saddle, and when I got back to my room, these were waiting on my bed,” she said. Irina wasn’t the girly type by any means, but even she blushed as the girls oohed over the gift.

And so it went on. Every week, another girl went on a date, and came down the next morning with a smile on her face and a surprisingly thoughtful gift to speak of - a violin for Juliette, a pair of tap shoes for Rosa, a painting for Rhea’s room. Tonight is Sapphy’s turn. She’s the last one, and you’re beginning to wonder what exactly it is that’s wrong with you.

Your initial reaction would be to think he’s mad at you after that outburst about Lexi leaving. But you've spoken since then, in the hallways, in the library - just small pleasantries, but his smiles have been genuine.

So what is it, then?

You’d confront him, but you’re nervous. Much, much too nervous. But you can’t stop wondering what the problem might be - _is it my age? Is it how I look? My weight? Does he just think I'm dumb? Is this some kind of sign that I'm the next to go?_

You shake your head. This is ridiculous; lying here and feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to do you any good. Maybe some fresh air would help?

You don’t bother getting dressed - why put on a corset or a robe or even slippers when you’ll be back in bed in ten minutes? It’s too hot, anyway. The less layers, the better, and the floors feel delightfully cool beneath your feet.

You pad down the hall, and all five million stairs, as quietly as possible. You doubt anyone else is awake, but you don’t want to risk it, especially as you make your way out into the gardens. You were never given a strict curfew, but you doubt that wandering the grounds in the dead of the night without an escort - barefoot and only wearing a nightgown, no less - wouldn’t exactly endear you to Lady Amara.

“This really is beautiful, Your Majesty.”

 _Shoot, shoot, shoot…_ You duck behind the nearest bush, wincing at the noise. Through the brambles, you can see two silhouettes, the (much) shorter one obviously corseted-and-petticoated. Loki’s voice is too low for you to make out his response. Between Sapphy’s pitch and her enthusiasm, though, she’s loud enough that you feel safe adjusting - that branch poking into your side isn’t the most comfortable.

It isn’t quite as bad, though, as when you lose your balance and topple off the balls of your feet in the other direction - directly into a whole host of other branches, all ready to poke into your side even harder than before. You’re still concealed - you think - but your squeak of surprise, combined with the rustling caused by your fall, isn’t exactly discreet. And the sudden lull in the conversation makes you fear that you might have been discovered, after all.

“Lady Sapphire, I have had a lovely evening, but I believe it best that we both retire for the night.” His voice is closer than before, and you tense up. “I have a full day of political meetings tomorrow, and I assume you’ll be equally busy with lessons.”

As she agrees, they continue past you, and you let out a sigh of relief. Once you see the light green flash, you finally do your best to roll out from under the bush without getting yourself scratched up any further. You can’t help but rest on your side for a moment, dirt pathways be damned...

"Would you like some help?"

...until you open your eyes and see a pair of shoes right in front of you.


	28. Chapter 28

He’s  _ there _ , damn it, reaching a hand down to pull you up, and you let him. He takes a minute to appraise you, in all your dirty, disheveled, nightgown-clad glory. “I must say, I’m surprised. You never struck me as the eavesdropping type.”

“Eavesdrop - oh, my God, no, no, I just…” You pause, but honestly, you’re too tired to lie even somewhat believably. “I couldn’t sleep.”  _ Not untrue. _ “You two just took me by surprise - I didn’t want to get caught up past curfew.”

He purses his lips, and you prepare yourself for the worst. “No, I suppose not. I imagine Lady Amara is fairly strict on the subject of beauty rest.”

_ Oh, thank God. _ The joke relaxes you enough for you to try and riff off of it. “Yeah, gotta get your eight hours, you know?” You look down, feeling suddenly guilty. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your date, though. Sorry about that.”

“Quite alright. The evening was winding down at that point, so there wasn’t much you could do to interrupt.”

“Right.” That makes you feel a little better, at least. “So, anyway, I’m going to head back to my room.”

“Of course. May I escort you?”

“Sure? I mean, the company would be nice, but I don’t want to keep you up later than necessary.”

He smiles. “It’s no hardship. Although, first…” He makes a vague gesture. 

You look down, and realize that in addition to your earth-stained pajamas, your arms are covered in tiny scratches, a couple of which were bleeding. You nod your consent, and after a familiar green glow, the marks fade away, along with the sting. “Thanks.” 

As you start your way back through the garden, a light breeze blows through, shaking loose some petals from a nearby tree. They cascade gently down, dancing against your skin, and in the pale light of the moon the flurry almost reminds you of…

“Snow.”

“Hm?”  
“It’s winter, right? Out in the...um...the real world?”

He laughs at that. “In the Northern Hemisphere, yes.”

“Right. I miss snow. It’s been over a year since I’ve seen any. I used to be able to feel it - you know, that smell in the air when winter’s coming? Really crisp, and clean, and the air gets cold so that your face goes a little numb, and then you go indoors where there’s heat and the warmth kind of seeps back into you, and - ” You stop, self-conscious of the fact that you’re rambling. Again. “Yeah. That.”  
When you look up, though, he doesn’t look annoyed or impatient at all. More just...amused. But not in a condescending way. “You wouldn’t grow bored? Cooped up inside all day?”

You stare at him a moment. “I mean, the idea would be to go outside. Snowball fights, snowmen, snow angels, general frolicking…”

“I was under the impression that most people avoided snow...avoided the cold as much as possible.” His voice grows quiet. “At least, that has been my experience.”

He sounds sad. You’re not sure what to do with that. “Oh. Well…” You nudge him in what you hope is a playful way. “Welcome to planet Earth, my friend.”

“Friend?”

His surprise makes you laugh. “We talk, pretty regularly. We’ve argued a few times. I helped you defeat a squadron of shapeshifting aliens." You shrug." I’d say that just about qualifies us as friends, don’t you?”

When he speaks again, there’s a hint of a smile in his voice. “I suppose so.”

“Then it’s settled.” You extend a hand, and he grabs it to shake. “Friends.”

“Friends.”

You’ve reached the stair leading up to your room. “Well, this is my stop,” you joke. You elbow him gently one last time. “Thanks for walking me back.”

He bows slightly -  _ ever the formal one _ , you think. “The pleasure was mine.”

You smile back at him, and then turn back around to start the trek up.

“And, er, (Y/N)?”

You don’t turn to look at him. “Yes?”

“Thank you. For your friendship.” 

It’s a strange, almost awkward way of phrasing it...but it’s also sweet. Very sweet. You giggle, feeling a sort of tenderness take hold of your heart -  _ or maybe it’s just how tired I am _ \- as you respond. “Likewise.”

Falling back into your bed, you feel...different somehow. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but…  _ I don’t know _ . 

That is, you do. You’re just not sure if you’re ready to admit it to yourself.

_ I...I actually want to be his friend. _

There. You thought it. 

It’s not a huge revelation, perhaps - no grand declaration of feelings. But you had never expected that you would ever be  _ friends  _ with the new king of Midgard, let alone that you’d ever  _ want _ to be. 

You like him. You enjoy his humor, and his (newly emerging) kindness, and his company overall. And in spite of the fact that part of you still misses home more than anything...you actually feel safe here. Your newfound platonic affection for His Royal Highness has this place feeling more like a home than ever before. Your mind races with possibilities -  _ maybe I can help him pick a good wife from the remaining girls. Maybe I have the potential to do some good here after all. _

That night, you fall asleep smiling.


End file.
